Limits of Our Love
by WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: .ON HIATUS. Bonds strengthen and tension rises. What will it take to make two lost souls realize the limits of their love? 6 27 Update! Chapter Seven. KR
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible or Ron Stoppable, etc. But you all know that. ;) _

_A Note From the Authoress: Hey all! First Kim Possible fic. I'm posting it here on my serious account for now, as I'm not able to upload on my other account yet. So if you see the same exact story by Carmen Rose, don't worry, it's still me. That's my account for my sillier and more experimental works, so as soon as I can, I'll be transferring this over there. Thanks!_

_Also, this is just a brief little fuzz-let right now, but depending on the response I get, I'll turn it into a full-on mini-epic-chapter-fic (taking place after So the Drama) with this as the prologue. So tell me what you think!__

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_Kim relished the presence of the man beside her, burrowing further into his comforting embrace. She'd fallen asleep as soon as they'd gotten onto the plane, immediately resting her head against Ron's shoulder for lack of a better pillow. But he didn't seem to mind. He'd wrapped an arm awkwardly about her and begun stroking her wet, matted hair. The mission was nothing new: beat the bad guys and save the world, but it had taken a greater toll on her than normal. She was bruised and sore . . . and tired, but nothing more._

_He'd wrapped a blanket around her in her last moments of waking and presently she delved further beneath it, shivering. Good old Ron . . . she could always rely on him to make things better. They'd known each other for almost forever, and she always told him everything, but this was a secret too precious for even him. No, not too precious for him, just too precious to tell. If she told, nothing would be the same between them. Sure, they'd grow even closer, but it would come to an end as all good things do, and that was a fate too unbearable to even ponder. He may not have poise, or the Look, or a convertible, but he was Ron, and that was all that really mattered to her. Theirs was a special kind of friendship: seemingly opposites understanding one another beyond comprehension, caring for each other the way no-one else ever could._

_She nestled further into his embrace, seeking his warmth. Gazing up at him, she acknowledged his good looks. True, he wasn't handsome by the standards of Bonnie or any of those other girls, but there was something about his face, his look that could make her tremble at instances like this. It was exhilarating and frightening at once, that someone like Ron (someone without thousands of girls flocking around him, that is) could make her feel like this with such a simple touch, or a caring glance._

_He was sleeping quietly now; it was a long way home. She didn't mind, though, it only gave her more time spent like this. It was the only time she could admire him like this, pretend nothing was weird about the situation, about considering her best friend perhaps a bit more than friends. But it was something she wouldn't, couldn't tell him. She just didn't have the courage. Sure, she saved the world everyday, no big, but telling her best friend she loved him? That was the one thing she couldn't do._

_The plane was landing. She quickly snuggled against him and closed her eyes. The moment was ending and she needed to memorize it, capture it, keep it forever: the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the tenderness of his embrace. She would always have these instances, as long as Team Possible accepted far away missions, that is. Perhaps that's why she'd never tell him: these moments were too elating to risk losing._

_Soon, she felt Ron jerk awake and shift to look out the window, or did he pause to look at her? She grinned slightly, burying her face in his shoulder. _He always smells so good . . ._ He squeezed her gently._

"_KP, time to wake up. We're home. KP?"_

"KP?"

"Hmm?" She continued walking, eyes downcast, arms clutching her books.

"What's wrong?" Ron questioned in that 'secrets don't make friends' sort of tone. "You seem a bit, well . . . distracted." He shoved his hands in his pockets, waking Rufus from his nap, inducing an annoyed squeak. "Sorry, pal, my bad." He scratched the back of his neck with the offensive hand, pondering what Kim could possibly be so upset over. She'd been fine the previous night: he'd eased her awake, made sure she got inside her house okay, informed Mrs. Dr. Possible of the large bruises on Kim's arms, back and shoulders (she was a doctor after all, if anyone could do anything about them it was her, even if it's not exactly her specialty), said goodbye and went on his way. She hadn't seemed out of sorts, exhausted, yes, but not upset in the least.

"I was just thinking," she said, toying with the strap of her shirt. "Ya know, about the mission last night. That's all."

"Aw, KP, you'll get Drakken next time. So what? He got away. No big, right?" She sighed. Apparently that wasn't the reassurance she was looking for. Then what was wrong? What could have happened on last night's mission that could have thrown her into such a mood? "How's the shoulder? Still hurting ya?"

She shook her head and tugged on her shirt to reveal that the bruise had lost that black-green tint it had acquired the previous night. "Mom put some ice on it."

"That's good." He sighed presently and began, stuttering as he was, "Hey, I know something's bothering you right now, and I understand if you'd rather not tell me, but you're my best friend, KP, and if you ever need to talk, I'm always ready to listen."

She stopped and looked over at him as he continued a few paces ahead. Spending a few moments looking from him to her books, she considered her options. She could drop the subject altogether, he wouldn't feel bad, at least not for too long, or she could tell him how she felt. Maybe he'd feel unwanted, as if she were only mocking him. After all, she'd spend hours babbling to him about that Josh Mankey. Sure, she had a crush on him, being an attractive young man, but who did she really like? Who did she love? She became weak in the knees whenever Josh looked at her, to the point sometimes she couldn't even speak with him, but in whom did she confide her deepest secrets? Ron. He, too, caused her to tremble in anticipation, and he'd always been beside her.

And he always would.

Intuitively, she reached out and touched his hand. "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

She smiled slightly. "Thanks."

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_Please read and review!_


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, yadayadayadah . . .

_A Note From the Authoress: Look! An update! I know it's a pretty short chapter, but I was going to add another scene onto the end, but it was entirely pointless, ruined the mood and would have been ridiculously short anyways, so, here you go! It's not going to be a pure fluff-fic, I swear, this is just exploring their relationship after the Prom. Yup, inspired by So the Drama. :-D And just a brief note: I just attended my Junior Prom last night. It was fun, but unfortunately I wasn't as lucky as Ron or Kim. Maybe next year, though. Oh, and I'll probably be moving this story over to my Carmen Rose account pretty soon, so keep a look-out!_

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**Chapter One**

Kim gazed up at the moon and stars, contemplating all that had happened in the past week. Everything Bonnie had said about the Food Chain was entirely untrue, in fact, everyone _but_ Bonnie was congratulating them, giving Ron a pat on the back (at which he'd blush and tug nervously on his collar in the way that always made Kim laugh) and Kim a knowing smile. But it really didn't matter what they thought, anyways; lying here with Ron, the jungle gym platform hardly large enough for them both, their legs dangling off opposite ends, their fingers loosely intertwined, she felt everything had finally fallen into place. After years of longing and confusion, here they were, together at last.

"KP?" Ron asked, tightening his hold on her hand.

"Yeah?"

He hesitated. She glanced over at him questioningly. ". . . nothing," he said finally. "Isn't the view great tonight?"

"Ron," she said, sitting up, "What were you going to say?"

"It was nothing, really." He released her hand to fold both of his behind his head, looking up at her. "I've forgotten by now, anyways." He grinned broadly at her as she shifted beside him, curling up quietly at his side, resting her head on his chest. It seemed too perfect, to fall in love with him, that is. She'd always expected it, really, and she'd waited, but it had never happened . . . from what she could tell. But it had been happening all along, the change from friendly devotion to unconditional, unrestrained love. She closed her eyes.

"I love you, Ron," she murmured, pulling herself closer to him, shrugging his jacket further over her shoulders. She buried her face in his shirt, smiling broadly at the wonderful sensations his scent induced. She felt his arms loop around her and she sighed contentedly, nuzzling into his chest. She often wondered if they'd be here, like this, had she not lost all inhibitions, had she not let down her guard for that brief moment . . . taking his hand (oh, how hers fit so perfectly within his!) and guiding him with her gentle presence. That split second, that single action, that one touch had changed everything; a dance, a kiss, and here they were.

He smiled down at her. "I love you, too, KP." He stroked her hair a few times and kissed the top of her head. Soon, he began to laugh. "Ya know, that's actually what I was going to say."

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him tenderly. "Then why didn't you just say so?"

He shrugged, grinning and tugging on a lock of her hair. "Why should I tell you?"

She slapped his arm playfully. "Because I'm your girlfriend, that's why!"

"My girlfriend," he pondered briefly, smiling, "I rather like the sound of that." He sat up, leaning in slowly, as if to kiss her. She closed her eyes, tilting her head, her breath quickening, mingling lovingly with his own. He closed the distance between them, just one more moment and . . .

He pinned her to the ground, poking her ribs and tickling her mercilessly. "Booyah!"

"Ron!" she wailed batting at his hands uselessly in an effort to stop him. She laughed and it was more than music to his ears; it was heavenly, so heavenly, in fact, he ceased tickling her for a short moment: just long enough for Kim to flip him over and start tickling him back.

"KP! Way not cool!" he cried, laughing. She was smiling at him. Goodness, how he loved that smile! The tickling soon became wild, pinning one another, poking one another, he squeezing her waist as she lay trapped beneath him. She'd flipped on top of him, full of mirth, and, in one final attempt, he moved with all his might to pin her, landing on top of her, holding onto her waist . . .

. . . right down the slide. They tumbled into a great, giggly heap in the grass. He rolled off of her, chuckling with amusement. "You're such a klutz," she noted, moving atop him. He smiled at her. This was what he'd always dreamt of: a person to love this way, a person in whom he could confide anything, a person he could rely on, a person to protect, and to be protected by. It had taken him mere moments to realize she'd been here all this time. But she'd never showed any signs of seeing him the way he saw her. And so she couldn't have been the one. What he sought could only be mutual . . . and so he'd hidden his feelings from her all this time. The emptiness he'd felt was only an illusion, simply a figment brought on by his doubt in her feelings. She'd always been there. He could see it now, shining, glistening in her eyes as she looked down at him, her smile softening, her laughter subsiding. Her hair, beautiful and shimmering in the moonlight, fell down to brush against his face. "This is the best date I've ever been on," she said softly.

"For real?"

"For real." He put his arms around her, warming her from the cool night's air, his jacket having fallen off her shoulders in their little wrestling match on the jungle gym. Bueno Nacho and a trip to the park, the best date ever? He thought it rather funny that Kim, a cheerleader, should find this even remotely romantic, but she wasn't like the rest. Maybe that's why he loved her so much? He tightened his embrace as she leaned in closer, her eyes drifting closed. His hand moved upwards, to the back of her neck, lightly running up and down her skin there, sending shivers down her spine. Closer she bent down, capturing his lips in a romantic embrace. She smiled against him, kissing him again, whispering sweet 'I love you's into his breath. This was heaven.


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Me no ownie KP. K? K.

_A Note From the Authoress: Thanks for all the awesome reviews! I'm sorry this has taken so long. I actually wrote the second two parts today . . . it was just a bunch of junk. I helped some friends with Cabaret Concert, One Act Festival, and the Choir Flea Market. And I had a party, and Monday I turned seventeen (just had to put that in, yes), and I had my AP Calc Exam on Tuesday . . . so I've been busy. But I know that's no excuse :dodges projectiles:_

_Okay, this chapter is major foreshadowing. And this chapter's longer! Now that we're getting into some semblance of a plot, expect longer chapters, and maybe quicker updates, if something doesn't come up. Oh, and yes, there are blizzards in, like, JUNE in Colorado. Believe me. I live there. ;)_

_Anissa: Are you one of Drakken's drones, too:backs away: Heehee, just kidding:huggle: Anissa!goo is different from Eric!goo, I suppose. ;)_

_Jezrianna2.0: Thank you so much! Good reviews from a writer like you a very honoured SarahLynn_

_Everyone else: I love you all::bows:_

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**Chapter Two**

"So," Ron said, "Bueno Nacho at six tomorrow?" Sitting on the Possibles' living room couch, he wrapped his arms more firmly about Kim, who was stretched out, taking up twice as much room as he, leaning against his chest, paying absolutely no attention to the movie he'd brought over (from the title, she could tell it had something to do with zombies and ninjas, not exactly romantic, but some things about Ron never changed). His fingers massaged and soothed her through the warm fabric of his jacket which he'd draped lovingly over her shoulders.

"Of course," she smiled, shifting in his arms to press closer against him. "Like always." She looked up at him with shiny emerald eyes, grinning mischievously. He smiled back at her, removing one hand from her back to touch the tip of her nose with one gentle finger. Giggling, she wrinkled her nose flirtingly.

"Hey, kids," Mrs. Dr. Possible chimed from the next room, having just arrived home from work. "Having fun?" She set her keys down on the table and approached the living room.

"Mhm," Kim murmured. She settled herself against Ron comfortably, but innocently enough, trying to turn her attention to the movie, but found turning his hand over within both of hers far more amusing than watching some space ninja fight off raging zombies.

Dr. Possible muffled a laugh. "Glad to hear it." She watched them for a moment, smiling. She'd always thought they belonged together, despite their differences. They'd been best friends forever, yes, but she knew that social pressure at school would keep Kim from ever seeing Ron in any other light than that of platonic love. She'd always hoped something like this would happen: that her daughter would give Ron a chance. That whole episode with the moodulator had been welcome, but obviously a bit . . . off. But this, this was real. She could see it in her daughter's eyes as he held her this way.

She suddenly felt acute loneliness; her own husband had taken their sons and Ron's pet naked mole rat, Rufus, camping for the night, leaving her and Kim to fend for themselves. She considered offering Ron to spend the night; she trusted him not to take advantage of her daughter, and she trusted Kim not to try anything of the sort. "Ron, why don't you call your parents and tell them you're spending the night?"

Their snuggling ceased immediately as those words fell from Mrs. Possible's mouth. They both sat up, staring at her open-mouthedly.

She stifled a giggle. "What? It's not like Ron hasn't stayed the night before."

Kim considered protesting, but soon dismissed the thought, realizing that most girls her age wished for such an opportunity. And it wasn't like they were going to do anything, anyways; it was just . . . that her mother trusted them that much. It was empowering in a way. She looked to Ron. He looked as if to protest as well, but seemed to have come to a similar conclusion. "Thanks, Mrs. Dr. P." he said, reaching around Kim for the phone.

"Sure thing, Ron," she replied, heading for the door to give them some privacy. "Anytime."

Kim stood as Ron dialed his number. She located the remote (which was quite a feat considering the mess that had resulted from their various tickle fights) and turned off the movie. It was late and she much preferred falling asleep in his arms to listening to the screams of the undead.

"Hey, Mom?" he said into the phone. "Yeah. Mrs. Possible invited me to spend the night . . . Mom! . . . MOM! . . . No, Kim and I will NOT be sleeping in the same bed." Kim giggled in response. "Okay, yeah. . . . Thanks, Mom. See ya in the morning. Bye." He pressed the 'off' button on the cordless phone and replaced it in its port on the table.

Kim sauntered toward him, settling herself in his arms. "You're awful presuming now, aren't you?" She grinned mischievously up at him.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, drawing her closer.

"I don't believe I ever consented to those sleeping arrangements."

"KIM!"

She burst out laughing, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Just kidding!" she sang. He shook his head sternly at her before beginning to chuckle as well. She beamed up at him, drawing closer. He smiled at her, dropping his head, tilting it slightly to the side, opening his mouth just so, as his hand came up to cup her cheek.

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

Kim sighed and dropped her head. She pulled the Kimmunicator out of her pocket.

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

"Hey, Wade. What's the sitch?"

"Hey, Kim. Bad ne . . ." he made a disgusted face. "Are you and Ron being all mushy again?"

Kim rolled her eyes and moved a bit away from Ron. "Wade . . ."

"Oh, yeah! Bad news. Looks like Drakken's up to no good again." He began typing excitedly and with a final flourish, a map was launched onto the screen of the Kimmunicator. "His new lair is in Egypt. You'd best leave now; it's going to be a long ride. We'll have to . . ."

"Wait," Kim interjected. "What's Drakken up to?"

Wade gave her an almost nervous look. "To tell you the truth, I don't even know."

"That's comforting," Kim murmured, more to herself than to Wade.

"There's odd activity in there. You need to go in and check it out, see what we're up against. I've got a ride set up for you. They'll be picking you up in fifteen minutes."

"Thanks, Wade."

"Wade out." The screen went black. Kim turned to where Ron was sitting, disgruntled, arms folded, behind her.

"What's wrong?" she said, frowning.

"Just had to crush my dreams," he grumbled. She giggled and pulled him to his feet. After all, they were saving the world in fifteen.

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Kim swung around, throwing a round-kick in Shego's direction, only to be hurled backwards into the rough, carven limestone of the obelisk behind her by a flash of green energy. "Ron!" she cried. "Don't let Drakken get away!"

As if on cue, Drakken laboriously lifted the sheet-covered machine he'd apparently stolen or created to aid in his efforts in world conquest and placed it harshly in the free space of his hover-pod. Oddly enough, upon arriving, Drakken was not punching away on some overly complex console, nor was he tinkering away on his newest death ray, but waiting, a bit impatiently albeit but waiting nonetheless, for her arrival. Ron had been rather enthused about the mission, being the first mission in which the villain would remember his name. Unfortunately, Drakken seemed to have gone back to his old mindset, referring to Ron as the buffoon despite Ron's attempts at getting him to say his name. "You always STOP me!" he said, but Drakken proved too dense to catch the hint.

Whatever machine Drakken planned on using next had yet to be revealed, from the beginning tucked away in a corner, half hidden by crumbling statues. He'd not given his usual speech about how whatever mechanism he'd recently acquired would conquer the world in some obscure, implausible way. Shego had simply attacked her and done all in her power to keep her and Ron as far away from the contraption as possible. It was all so strange, Kim had thought, that Drakken would be breaking super villain canon in this way.

She was brought out of her thoughts by another hard blow from Shego, this time knocking her back against the legs of an enormous, now decapitated and one-armed statue. She saw a flash of blue fly from her pocket with the force of the hit. "The Kimmunicator!"

Drakken's hover-pod began sputtering, working hard under the additional weight, blowing sand everywhere. Kim dropped to the ground, burying her face in her sleeve to keep the sand out of her eyes. She crawled forward, feeling the rough, burning sand scratch at her bare forearms. Scrambling for the Kimmunicator, she heard Shego's voice: "Too hot for ya, Kimmie?" Where was the Kimmunicator? She needed Wade to get a heat signature from the machine, or send for a ride to wherever her foes were headed next, or _something_. They were in the middle of nowhere, and the Kimmunicator was their only link to the modern world. Where was it?

She felt something warm and hard, a screen, a button, another button . . . the Kimmunicator! She went to grab onto it when she saw the silhouette of a shoe come down and heard a loud, crunching sound, followed by several sparks of electricity which only confirmed her worst fears: they were lost in the desert.

"You think you're all that, Kim Possible, but you're not!" came the requisite line from Drakken. The flying sand began to slow down, and she knew they'd gotten away.

She heard a familiar voice. "KP? KP, are you okay?" There was a hand on her back, attempting to comfort her in some way. _Ron . . ._ She sat up, difficult as it was, brushing the sand and chunks of limestone from her person, sighing.

"Hey, Ron," she said, pulling the wrist of her glove to let the sand escape. At least Ron was okay; that was the most important thing. True, she'd always worried about him on missions, but now with the change in their relationship, his safety suddenly took on new levels of importance. "Drakken stepped on the Ki . . ." she trailed off, seeing the Kimmunicator, still crushed underneath the shoe, Ron's shoe. "RON!"

"Wha-wha-what?" he replied defensively, backing up a few paces, arms up as if threatened by a gunman. No, this was worse than any lousy old gun; this was a very angry Kim Possible.

"Ron," she fumed, "_You_ stepped on the Kimmunicator!" She picked up the crunched and cracked device, punching uselessly at the buttons. "You broke it!"

"Kim," he soothed, kneeling beside her. "Wade'll just make a new one. A better one! So not the drama, as you'd say."

She glared up at him. "Ron. We're stranded. In the desert. Miles from civilization. With no Kimmunicator. This is so definitely the drama!" She sighed dejectedly, clasping her hands in her lap. "I guess we'll just have to sit here and wait, and hope that someone passes by, or Wade sends help."

Thinking to lighten the mood, and to give them a little enjoyment while they were stuck there, Ron wrapped his arm around her waist, grinning. "Well, while we're just sitting here waiting . . ." He leaned in, using his other hand to tilt her chin up to him.

She pulled away harshly. "Not now, Ron." She stood up, brushing the sand from her cargo pants, and walked away. He looked after her, not entirely sure whether or not he should go after her. He'd never considered this as a problem to them dating; it seemed too perfect for anything like that. Of course, they'd argued before, but never under these circumstances. He knew they had their differences, and one of these days, one might come up, but he never realized how badly it would hurt.

* * *

Kim Possible sighed, pulling Pandaroo tightly to her breast. She hated fighting with Ron, now more than ever. It was a silly thing to argue over, too, but at the time it was important. No, it just _seemed_ important. Wade had already sent over another Kimmunicator, and everything was status quo in the mission department, but she and Ron had not uttered a word to one another since she'd pulled away from him, back there in the desert.

It was almost four in the morning now, and, usually, she'd be waking up in an hour and a half to get ready for school. Lucky for them, school had been canceled due to the freak blizzard that had attacked Middleton a few hours prior. _Stupid Colorado weather_, she thought. Gazing out her window, she saw the snow coming down rapidly, gathering against the glass. _Like faeries_, she mused.

She shivered inwardly, considering the man asleep on her living room couch. A man? It was often silly to consider Ron a man, when he was such a child at heart. Nevertheless, when he held her in his arms, when he kissed her, she couldn't think of any being on the planet that deserved the title more than he. She sighed presently, burying her face in the time and love-worn fur of her Pandaroo.

Pandaroo. She'd never told anyone else that she still slept with him; nobody else except Ron. He actually considered it extremely cute, he'd once told her. She smiled slightly. Good old Ron . . . he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, nor was he the most poised or 'hunky' boy at their school, and she couldn't deny that he messed up sometimes . . . most of the time, but he'd always make it up to her. His mistakes were rarely anything other than harmless, and he'd saved her life countless times . . .

She felt so guilty about treating him like that . . . he seemed so hurt. She'd expected him to make some remark when they returned to her house . . . perhaps like "Sure was nice of you to help that man fix his cart as he came by." She'd have replied with something along the lines of "He was our only way home!" No . . . that was still too sharp. Why did she have to be so harsh toward him? Maybe it was better to stay here, to avoid him, to ignore him all the more. She still had Pandaroo, didn't she? He'd never leave her . . .

But Ron hadn't left her! She'd left him . . . and for what? A silly argument; no, worse: a silly argument brought on by an honest mistake, by an accident.

She made up her mind. Resolutely, she gathered Pandaroo up in her arms and crept silently down to the living room. In the dim light provided by the street lamp outside the window, she could see that Ron was having his own problems sleeping, rattled by thoughts of his own. There he lay, looking off into space, unseeing, a frown creasing his brow, his blanket shoved aside. He hadn't noticed her, or perhaps he was that upset with her he'd rather ignore her.

_I can do anything._ She gathered up all of her courage and called softly, "Ron?"

Broken from his reverie, he looked to find Kim, barefoot and pajama clad, holding Pandaroo tightly to her chest, looking as if she were near tears. Precious as it was, his worry pushed all other thoughts aside. "KP?" he whispered. "What's wrong?"

Before he knew it, she'd thrown herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder, Pandaroo lying forgotten on the floor. "I'm sorry, Ron," she breathed, "I'm so sorry . . ."

He held her close, stroking her disheveled, auburn locks. "Don't apologize, Kim. It's not your fault. I should be apologizing."

"No, Ron, don't say that. It was me." She pressed her face into his neck, breathing almost shakily against him.

"Let's just drop it, KP. We don't want to fight about fighting, now do we?" he said, pulling her back enough so she could see the big, goofy grin on his face. She laughed softly before yawning and burrowing further into his embrace. "Come on, bedtime." He reached over her and picked up Pandaroo from his place on the floor, settling the plushie securely within Kim's arms. Pulling the blanket over all three of them, he cradled her in his arms. "Goodnight, KP."

He felt her shift in his arms. "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," she whispered, barely audible.

He smiled and, kissing the back of her neck, returned the whisper, "I love you, too."

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_Please read and review!_


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible yadayadayadah. The End.

_A Note From the Authoress: Okay, first off, I'm warning you that this chapter is almost completely fluff. I don't know what got into me. There's one piece that isn't. Also, I have fluff in here that's not Ron/Kim. It's a pairing that actually _is_ in the series, but I've seen very few (if any) fan fics in support of them. So, for a little side story, I tried it out here. Enjoy that!_

_Another thing, although this chapter is Fluff Like Woah, come the next chapter, it's going to get extremely dark, and, because of this, I might bump the rating. It's going to start introducing new characters, and there's going to be a great deal of things dealing with the occult . . . so . . . watch out. ;) I don't know when the next chapter will be up, because I have exams for the next two weeks, but I might be able to swing it . . . we'll see . . ._

captainkodak1_: Thank you for your kind review. All of the things you've mentioned are going to play a big role in the rest of the story, so I hope you enjoy.  
_Sestren NK_: Yup, Colorado. "Don't like the weather? Wait ten minutes." ;) Thanks for the review!  
_hyprlynx_: Thank you so much! Characterisation is something I'm working on with this story. I'm glad I'm doing okay. :)  
_Jezrianna2.0_:) :) :) That's the entire basis of this story. Glad someone caught it. ;)  
_Anissa: _Ah, yes, all couples _do_ have their problems. You and I know this well, neh?  
_Everyone Else_: Huggles all around! Thanks so much for reading!_

_And now, after that long rant, here's the next chapter!_

**

* * *

Chapter Three**

Mrs. Possible could not help but be shocked by the sight before her, but it was a . . . pleasant surprise, she concluded. Of course, she'd rather Kim and Ronald not show such physical affection out in the open, particularly on their living room couch when Mr. Possible was due home in a few hours. She, of course, could tell that very little, if anything had transpired between the two, quite easily displayed by the presence of two full sets of pajamas on both teens, the blanket firmly wrapped about the both of them, Pandaroo's little head peeking out over the edge, and the fact that she was not awoken the previous night by any 'loud' expressions of pleasure; but her husband might see things a tad differently.

Mr. Dr. Possible had called her when the storm had begun to strengthen, informing her that he and the twins had managed to adjust the engine of the car, allowing them to drive to a nearby hotel, where they were spending the night, camping inside as a substitute, and would be returning home around noon.

She smiled at them for a moment, warming her hands on her coffee cup, remembering when they'd spend sleepovers like this. Of course, then, it was less romance and more of a precious, childish affection that drove them to behave like this, but nonetheless, she could do nothing but clasp her hands together over her morning brew and sigh contentedly. Kim murmured something in her sleep, cuddling closer to Ron. It seemed a crime to wake them, but they'd thank them later, when Ron wasn't on some deep space probe.

"Ahem," she coughed. Immediately, Ron jolted awake to stare up at Kim's mother in what appeared to be unmasked fear. Kim simply moaned and rolled over to wrap an arm round Ron's neck, Pandaroo squished between them. "H-h-hey . . . Dr. P. . . . what's shakin'?" he stuttered, trying to be surreptitious about pulling Kim closer; he just couldn't resist.

She raised an eyebrow at him in mock severity.

"It isn't what it looks like, I swear, Mrs. Dr. P. I would never do that to Ki . . ."

She waved her hand dismissively in front of her. "I know, I know, Ron. But her father might not see it that way."

Struck by the realization, he quickly (not to mention a tad bit fearfully) moved to sit up, only to be held down by Kim's fierce embrace. Her mother chuckled in amusement.

"Five more minutes," she said seriously before walking off, sipping at her coffee.

Ron sighed in relief, looking down to see Kim clutching at his pajama top, as if he were a replacement for Pandaroo. Grinning, he gently lifted her chin to him, careful not to wake her, and pressed his lips softly against hers. Waking, she pulled him closer, arms round his neck, deepening the kiss. She suddenly felt lightheaded, as if the world were falling away from her, or perhaps she was falling through the rabbit hole, to a world where nothing was the same, but at once, more beautiful than anything she'd ever experienced. _Down, down, down . . ._ She felt a weakness as he held her, pulled her close, sweetly, lovingly embracing her, his lips tenderly against hers. Dizzy, she could think only of him: Ron Stoppable, and how much she wished for this moment to last for a lifetime, and longer, to be suspended in ecstasy for eternity, only he and she, forever. _Would the fall never come to an end?_

He pulled away, smiling. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." Running his thumbs lovingly over her face, he leaned in once again to rub his nose against hers. It was funny, almost, she thought. She'd never seen Ron as much of a romantic, but since the Prom he'd become so charming (or had he been that way all along, and she too preoccupied to notice?), she thought herself the luckiest girl at Middleton High.

She giggled, pulling Pandaroo from between them. "Since when did you become so witty?"

"Since I've had that line in mind for the past ten minutes."

Kissing his cheek, she giggled and took his hand within both of hers, leaving Pandaroo on her chest, rising and falling with her breaths. "I wonder what my mom would say if she found us like this."

"Oh," he began casually, "she already did."

Her eyes went wide.

"She said we had five more minutes," he continued. He absently twined a lock of Kim's hair around his finger. "But of course that was about four minutes ago. Your dad's coming home soon."

With a bit of difficulty (considering Ron's grip on her waist was quite firm), she rolled off the couch, taking Pandaroo and the blanket with her.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, amused by her childish tendencies. He couldn't help but notice the familiarity in the way Pandaroo was balanced between her arm and her breast.

"No use wasting a perfectly good snow day!" she chirped. "Meet me outside in fifteen." And with that she bounded up to her room to change, clearly have forgotten any disagreement that may have occurred the night before.

* * *

"I'd thought I'd figured out Kim Possible's weakness," Drakken ranted, "Boys, the research said." He continued stalking about his newest lair, having had to move from Egypt following Kim's intervention. He stumbled into a box, glared at it menacingly (if not childishly), kicked it, and continued on pacing. "But!" he declared, pointing a finger upward in an overdramatic fashion, "It wasn't quite specific enough."

"Ya think?" came Shego's sarcastic remark. She was lounging on a nearby chair, filing her nails, rolling her eyes at every word that escaped Drakken's mouth.

"Quiet, Shego," he growled, then continuing on with his spiel. "The use of a syntho-drone to twist her feelings before snatching the object to which she directed them was genius, if I do say so myself. But there was a fatal flaw in my plan."

"Isn't there always?" she said, combing her fingers through her raven tresses.

He ignored her. "The feelings were as fake as he was. Had she never known who he really was, what he really was, she'd have gotten over it as soon as her affections were focused on a real person again. That was the one risk in the plan, and of course, its one downfall. She loved the buffoon the entire time."

Shego looked up from her primping and polishing. "Earth to Drakken? _Everybody_ knew that!"

"They didn't!" he retorted defensively.

"Everyone but them," she grumbled. "Dr. D., just get to the point already."

He cleared his throat. "I, Dr. Drakken, have discovered Kim Possible's weakness!" He stopped his pacing and stood proudly, arms thrust outward, head thrown backward in a classic evil genius fashion.

She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her fingernails. She pondered, as she often did, why she did this, as her fingers were always covered by her thick, black gloves. Concluding it was for effect, she turned to look at him. "Which is?" queried an anything but enthused Shego.

He looked at her, suddenly shrunk into himself, wringing his hands menacingly in front of his chest. "Ron. Stoppable."

Shego's jaw dropped. She blinked a few times, trying to determine whether Drakken had actually said what she thought he'd said. "Wha- wha- wha- wait. What?"

"Aha!" he exclaimed, throwing his hand victoriously in the air. "I figured it out before you did!" he sang, resisting the urge to dance for joy at his supremacy.

She quickly shook herself out of shock, waving her hands in front of her. "No, no, no, I could've told you that two years ago!" She began to laugh almost. "I'm surprised you're just now figuring it out!"

"Then why didn't you say so earlier!" he shouted, suddenly angry at the realization that his realization was really old news. "And why did you seem so shocked?" He quickly grew quiet, glaring at her, a quite less than threateningly.

"Well, to answer your first question, _everybody _knew." He grunted in disapproval. "And as for the second, I can't believe you actually remembered his name." She grinned mischievously.

He violently shook her chair by the arms before proceeding to continue his pacing and ranting, telling of how the capture of Ron Stoppable would lead to a trap for Kim Possible, but, so blinded by rage, she'd not be able to set her sidekick, nor herself free, or perhaps she'd be so devastated she'd not even attempt to come for him. Either way, he'd win. Shego stared in wonder as his plan was displayed before her; a plan that might actually work. No, it would work. She saw no flaw; he'd gone to every measure, faking the last laser that she'd been after in Egypt. It was a small plan, only thwarting two people, but they were the only two that could stop them. And from there? They could conquer the world. Naturally, Shego would take control as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But she'd let Drakken do the hard part: the destruction of Team Possible.

Little did Drakken and Shego know, they were not alone in their plotting. Hiding in the shadows, a dark figure crept. Cloaked and hooded, it moved slowly, deliberately, taking notes on words, actions, intentions . . . _The Superior will be most pleased._

* * *

"Gotcha!" Ron cried, nailing Kim with a snowball. She giggled and threw two back in response with a silly little 'haha!' added for effect. "Hey! Shouldn't you have a handicap or something? Ya know, something about being a teen hero?"

She laughed as another snowball came her way, barely missing her. "You missed!" In response, he trudged through the foot or so of snow over to her, promptly pushing her, very gently, down to the ground, kissing her forehead as he did so. She sighed dreamily, allowing him to do this, to gather her in his arms and simply hold her, cherish her. "Ron?" she murmured.

"Yeah?" he mumbled into her hair.

"You're crushing me," she said with a bit difficulty, and a bit more humor.

He rolled off of her, only to pull her on top instead. She smiled as he wrapped his arms tenderly round her waist. "Hi."

"Hi." She chuckled slightly, running her fingers through his now wet, snowy hair. "You're weird," she stated absently. "But that's why you're my best friend."

He made a face of mock indignation. "What ever happened to boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend, too," she confirmed, resting her head on his chest. She sighed as he reached his hand up to stroke her hair. They sat like that through several moments of silence until the sound of the slamming of a car door jarred them back to reality. "Looks like my dad's home," she whispered, unmoving. Ron tried to move, but found Kim was permanently latched onto him.

"Uh . . . Kim? I really don't like the idea of deep space probes and black holes . . ."

Before she could respond, her younger brothers came racing round the house, carrying pieces of scrap metal, presumably found on their little excursion and no doubt to be used on some form of invention that would have the fire marshal over at the Possible Residence banning them from yet another unexpected activity. They grimaced at the sight of Kim lying on top of Ron so, but ran off all the same with a 'hick-a-bick-a-boo' and a 'hoo-shaw.' "Tweebs," she grumbled halfheartedly.

Following them, scampered a thoroughly excited Rufus, who, upon seeing Ron, immediately leapt up, landing on Kim's back, causing her to laugh uncontrollably. He wobbled for a moment, before deciding to simply crawl down to Ron's pant pocket, sneaking inside and settling down for a nap.

Kim closed her eyes, tired of the interruptions, only wanting to stay in Ron's arms forever, safe within his protective (clumsy as he, himself, was) embrace. To her relief, he'd not mentioned their argument the previous day, and planned to keep it that way, despite the incessant way it tugged at her mind. Still, she whispered, probably too quiet for Ron to hear, "I'm sorry." She heard footsteps.

"Kimmie Cub . . ." came the familiar voice of her father. They both immediately sat bolt upright, Kim beginning to allow her lower lip to protrude forward, Ron staring in terror, his arms still around her, seeing only deep space probes and black holes.

"Hi, Daddy!" she enthused, quite a trick in combination with the beginnings of her patented Puppy Dog Pout. She watched him set down some more scrap metal and their camping tent.

He seemed as if to chastise her, but found himself no match for his daughter's lower lip. His stern expression soon gave way to a smile, before returning to warn, "Ronald, remember: Black. Hole. Deep." He grinned, saying something along the lines of 'have fun', not realizing the two teens were more occupied with one another to hear him, before heading inside.

With her father gone, Kim smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

Sneaking inside, Dr. James Timothy Possible closed the door quietly behind himself. He smiled at seeing his wife, undisturbed and apparently unknowing of his entrance, turned away from him, pouring herself a cup of coffee. He tip-toed up behind her, grinning ear to ear, before slipping his arms gently round her waist, tenderly kissing the back of her neck.

She smiled and set her coffee on the counter. "Welcome home, hon," she murmured, leaning back against him. "Have fun with the boys?"

"Mhm," he began, wrapping his arms more tightly about her, before continuing huskily, "Would have had more fun with you, though." He saw her blush and smiled, bending forward to brush his lips lightly against her cheek. "You and Kimmie have a girls' night out or anything?" He began rocking her side to side. She pressed further against him and closed her eyes.

"Oh, no, Ron stayed the night." She sighed and turned her head a bit, seeking his shoulder.

He stopped suddenly. "Ronald stayed the night?" he said suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, James," she said, a bit exasperated, "Ron slept on the couch. It's not like they're going to do anything." His eyebrow lifted a bit farther. "Especially not with me around." Seeing the truth in this, he gave up on his overprotective father role and concentrated elsewhere.

"So," he started, a seductive hint in his voice, "Do anything interesting without me?"

"Hmmm, let's see," she teased, leaving her coffee abandoned on the counter. "I was really lonely. I couldn't help dreaming about this guy . . ."

"Oh? What sort of guy is he?"

"He's handsome, smart, and witty . . . he's a rocket scientist, you know." She moved her coffee away from the edge of the counter, so as not to be accidentally knocked off by anything that might transpire between them in the near future.

"I actually didn't know that." He sighed slightly, bending to bury his face in her neck. "What else?"

"Oh, I don't know." She turned round to face him, looping her arms around his neck. "He is just about the most handsome man I've ever met, the kindest, the most intelligent . . . a bit on the quirky side, but that's why I love him." She pressed her body closer to his, smiling up at him happily if not a bit seductively.

"Oh, you do?" he questioned, leaning in towards her, tilting his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow temptingly. He moved one hand up to the back of her neck, barely brushing his fingertips against her soft skin, feeling her short hair brushing against his fingers.

Losing herself in his eyes, she breathed, "More than anything." Pulling his hand flush across her skin, he pulled her in for a kiss. They broke away quickly. "Not now," she whispered fiercely, "the kids."

"Don't worry," he said. "They're all busy." He pulled her against him once more, savoring the feeling of her body so close to his. "We've got ten more minutes, at least." She gasped as he captured her lips with his again, pressing her back against the countertop slightly, holding her both fiercely and gently at once.

They'd not have stopped there had not the familiar voice of Jim (or was it Tim? In that situation, it could have been Kim and they'd not have known the difference) cried out in a disgusted tone, "Agh, ick! Not you, too! They're everywhere!" And with that, he ran out the way he'd come in, slamming the door behind himself.

Both Drs. Possible looked first at each other, then the door, and back to each other once more before bursting out laughing.

* * *

Thirty minutes following Jim's outburst (something about his parents having gone insane and mushy), Kim and Ron were sitting inside the snow cave they'd made after finding an incredibly deep snowdrift. Kim sighed, resting a hand on Ron's knee. She sensed something happening, some sort of dwindling between good and evil, as if something were about to occur, something terrible. Everything seemed too perfect: a loving best friend and boyfriend, they were about to graduate, they'd been accepted to Upperton University just a week prior (Kim for her grades and Ron sliding by on a cooking scholarship), and now a snow day. She shifted her head within his lap, turning it to better feel the constant pressure of his hand on her hair, petting, stroking there.

"Something wrong, KP?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

She shook her head. "It's nothing, Ron, really," she said. "I've just been thinking a lot lately, and . . ." She looked up to see his face wrought with worry and sudden dread. "What?"

"Are you . . . breaking up with me?"

She sat up, shocked at the very idea. "No!"

He gave her a confused look. "Then what have you been thinking about?"

She smiled at him, wrapping her arms a bit awkwardly around his neck. "I've been thinking about how perfectly happy I am with you." She gave him a mostly convincing smile before leaning in and pressing her lips to his cheek.

He gave a goofy grin, a bit of a dazed look on his face before wrapping his arms around her.

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

Pulling away from him, Kim searched through her pockets for the Kimmunicator.

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

"Where is it?" she grumbled, clearly annoyed at having misplaced it, especially seeing as how it was nearby.

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

"Looking for this?" Ron grinned, holding the Kimmunicator up for her to see, backing away slightly. She stared at him with mock indignation, slowly creeping towards him.

_Beep beep beep-beep!_

She immediately pounced him with an enthusiastic "Ron!" landing on top of his chest. She plucked the Kimmunicator from his hand and pressed the button. "Wade, what's the sitch?"

Wade smiled at the screen, having thought she'd lost or left the Kimmunicator somewhere, considering it rang four times before she picked up. But, upon seeing Kim apparently lying on top of Ron, alone, surrounded by snow, he grimaced slightly, considering making a smart comment on the situation, but instead settling for an "I'm not even going to ask."

Kim rolled her eyes jokingly. "The sitch? What is it?"

Wade began typing away at his computer. "Looks like an old occult relic has been stolen from the Middleton Museum."

A bit surprised at the mention of the occult, Kim considered all the usual suspects: Drakken, Shego, Monkey Fist . . . but none of them seemed the type to want anything dark and magical, unless it involved Mystical Monkey Power, of course. "Any leads?"

"Yeah. Looks like you're going undercover. Upperton." He smiled at her. "Remember when black was the new pink?"

"Yeah." She looked over at Ron, who was apparently readying a stock of snowball ammo to use against her.

"Better raid your closet."

* * *

_Please read and review!_


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Yeah. Don't own it. If I did, there would NOT be that whole 65 episode thing. :kicks certain people:

_A Note from the Authoress: Haha! Darker chapter. And the middle of finals two weeks. Yeah, stupid upper level classes, I have finals both seniors finals week and normal finals week. And I'm warning you for this chapter: it's darker. Less fluff. Some, but it's all pseudo-angsty. If dealings with the Occult offend you, don't read it. Nothing's really specific, honestly, but in the future it may (or may not, I've not quite decided) lean that way. So if you think I should bump the rating for that, please tell me and I will. No big._

gargoylesama:_ I whole-heartedly agree. I've seen worse than just mushiness, and I thought I'd die of grossness. Shudder-twitch-twitch.  
_the Desert Fox: _I know what you mean about it being impossible, but I always thought it was more of a joke to scare Kim's boy-toys. Like my dad, who still swears he's going to dig out his old hunting gun (no ammo in the house, just fyi) when my first date comes to pick me up. I'm actually considering addressing this issue in upcoming chapters, so keep a look-out and you can tell me what you think. :D  
_Jezrianna2.0: _Fluff is good, I agree. And thank you muchly! Huggle!  
_Everyone else that I'm either forgetting or didn't leave a review: _Thanks for reading! Hope you like this chapter!_

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* * *

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**Chapter Four**

Ron sat on the second bed in a hotel room in the backstreets of Upperton, Colorado, watching as his best friend applied black lipstick. He couldn't help but be reminded of Shego, the black upper lip that always seemed to curve into that menacing grin. He saw her begin to darken her eyeliner. He winced. It was a strange sight to say the least: his dearest Kim changing herself like this. Of course, he knew it was a mission; that this was her undercover disguise, but it was so unlike her, a cheerleader, to do this. Of course, that was a stereotype, and he of all people should not be stereotyping anyone, especially not his girlfriend.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Ron? What's wrong?" She quickly began unscrewing the cap of a container of black eye shadow.

"Nothing," he said, rather unconvincingly.

Turning back to the mirror, she took her brush and dipped it into the little jar, pulled it out, tapped it against the rim, and started brushing it over her left eyelid. Ron watched the process, the rhythmic motions of her fingers, mesmerizing him in his worry. Finished with this eye, she turned around to face him again. "Ron, really, what's wrong?"

Seeing her with one eye covered in black powder, the other perfectly normal, he couldn't help but laugh. "KP!" he enthused, "You have a black eye!" She frowned at him, looked at herself in the mirror, and, seeing the truth in what he'd said, began laughing as well. She took her eyeliner pencil and threw it at him playfully. He ducked, letting it hit the headboard behind him and fall to his pillow.

"Hey, you could've taken an eye out with that!"

Kim simply smiled and turned her attention back to her makeup, more specifically, her other eye. She'd been glad to see him laugh again, but glancing at him in the mirror, she found he'd gone back to his morose demeanor. She frowned and put the eye shadow down, watching him. There he sat, staring at her back, apparently too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice that she was returning his gaze (be it through the mirror as it was). He was wearing his normal mission clothes; he would be standing lookout. She'd given him her grappler, hoping that maybe his was just prone to malfunctioning, and, as she'd not be using hers, would aid him in not losing his pants this time.

Not turning around this time, she sighed and gave his reflection a meaningful look. "Ron, I know something's bothering you. Come on, you can tell me. We're BFF, remember?"

"It's nothing," he confirmed. In an attempt to convince her, he started going through his pockets, his supplies. He felt rather naked, as his naked mole rat was with Kim's brothers, who, after Ron began spending even more time than before at the Possible residence, now preoccupied with Kim and, although not neglecting Rufus, spent less time with his little friend, had adopted him as their official mascot and test pilot. Rufus didn't mind, but Ron felt rather guilty. _I'll apologize when this mission's over,_ he thought.

Unconvinced, Kim began piling her hair up on top of her head, securing it there with pins that scratched against her scalp. Thoroughly satisfied that it would stay, she stretched on the bald cap, wincing as it pressed some sharp pin ends into her skin. Seeing her apparently bald, Ron smiled amusedly at her reflection. She smiled back, almost sadly. As if on cue, a lock of red hair fell from its confines of pins and rubber down her right temple. Frowning, she tucked it up underneath the cap, not bothering to pin it there.

She lifted the wig from the counter, placing it on her head, securing it in place. It gave her luxuriously long, black locks, brushing against her backside whenever she moved. Ron watched the tip as it swayed back and forth. Yet again, he could not see his Kim standing there before him; it just wasn't her.

She turned round to face him, and he examined her appearance. She looked so tall . . . wearing that long black leather skirt and the stiletto heels. His gaze trailed upward, examining the skin that was bared by the slit that ran all the way up to her hip, covered only by fishnet tights. He gulped. _Undercover,_ he told himself. _She's not trying to seduce me. She's undercover. Undercover . . . _But it did little to calm him. Her beauty was intoxicating. He looked further upward to see that her bosom was covered by only a short, thin-strapped top. Her fishnet shirt and leather trench coat were lying ready on her bed. The nails of her left hand were covered in a thick, black lacquer. She held in her hand a bottle of black fingernail polish.

"Care to help with the other hand?" she asked, hand on hip, grinning at him.

Ron began to chuckle. "Can't do the right?" She blushed and flopped onto the bed next to him. "Hey, wait! Can't you do anything?"

She smiled a bit sheepishly, raising a finger to her lips, breathing a little "Shh . . ."

"It's okay," he said, taking the unpolished hand in one of his and the nail lacquer in the other. "It'll be our little secret." And with that, he shook the little bottle and began polishing her nails in silence. Finally, he spoke up, "Are you sure you'll fit in? Ya know, just 'cause they're different doesn't mean that they dress all scary like . . ."

"It's fine. Wade looked into it. Where I'm going, everyone'll look like this." She simply watched as his fingers moved over hers. He nodded in understanding. Once finished, he brought her fingertips to his lips and blew. She smiled slightly and said a meek little "Thanks" before moving to finish dressing.

He held onto her hand. "Kim . . ."

"What, Ron? What's wrong?" She shifted to sit closer to him, intertwining her fingers with his.

"I don't like the idea of you going in alone, KP. It's too dangerous." He looked into her eyes, confirming to her that this was his worst fear.

"Ron, they're harmless. They may be a little different, but that doesn't mean they're going to kill me the moment I walk in." She smiled at him. "And you'll be right outside if I need any help." He didn't seem convinced. "I'll be fine, I promised." With that she released his hand and walked over to her bed. She pulled her fishnet shirt over her head, flipping her wig out from underneath and slipping her thumbs into the larger holes cut at the bottom of the sleeves. Thoroughly content with the way it fit, she pulled on the leather coat, tightening the belt to fit against her curves.

Without a word, Ron led her out of the hotel room, locking the door behind him. They walked arm in arm to the large, run-down house where, according to Wade, an overzealous member of the occult had taken this mysterious relic. They stopped round the corner from the door. For a moment she thought of how lucky they were that Upperton had been spared from the storm, but quickly turned her attention once more to Ron.

They nodded at one another and Kim began to leave. Ron grabbed hold of her wrist. "KP . . ." he breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," he said seriously, "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. I know it sounds cliché, but it's the truth."

She smiled sadly at him before reaching up and kissing him firmly on the lips. His world spun and he held onto her tightly. She pulled away, turning from him with a swish of leather, and she was gone, leaving him with black marks across his mouth.

* * *

Whatever Kim had been expecting, this was most certainly not it. Looking around, she found everyone to be dressed nearly identical to herself, save a few that seemed to be either a bit overzealous or somewhat more laid back. Contrary to what many would have sought, the people around her simply milled about, chatting (although the subject matter was a bit odd, if not overwhelmingly disturbing), or sipping on punch so red it appeared to be blood. It was a party, she noted, not in any way a satanic worship, or anything to be feared, but simply a festivity which she felt very awkward taking part in. 

_Just get that talisman, and get out,_ she told herself, but she found the entire thing to be oddly intriguing, as if she'd like to sit down and talk with these people, listen to their views, and give a few of her own. _In and out,_ she repeated, but was quickly drawn astray by the sight of a young woman, not much older than herself, lighting a candle inscribed with writings and designs she'd never seen before. _What is that for?_ she pondered. _No! In and out. In and out!_ She continued on.

Looking this way and that, she certainly must have seemed out of place, her slow pace and wardrobe the only parts of her appearance matching the rest. Distracted by a tarot spread, she looked to the side watching intently as the fortune was read, not noticing what, or rather who, was in her path.

* * *

The young woman studied her surroundings, searching for that one particular person. _Ah, there she is._ The woman herself was tall, graced with the curves of a woman and the strength and authority of a man, or even perhaps a vampiress. She was dressed from head to toe in black leather, her feet clad with stiletto boots that clung to her muscular legs to the middle of her thighs, just a hint of fishnet visible above the edges. Her dress clung to her body, falling to the ground in the front and back, slit to the hip on both sides. The top portion of her breast lay bare, and from there dipped down to a 'V', held together only by taught laces. She wore a long trench coat that, without aid from a belt, clung to her figure. She, herself, was an interesting vision, pale as moonlight with eyes that shown with the beauty of a thousand emeralds. Her hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves of black, red, blonde and brown. 

She fingered the object in her hand. It had been rather easy to steal. _A bit too easy,_ she thought. It was a black weight, inscribed with tiny designs and symbols, dangling from a tarnished chain. She stroked the sphere, feeling the harsh texture of the paint against her darkly lacquered nails. The ease with which she'd taken it could have simply been because the object was a fake. She knew it; so did the greater part of the following to which she belonged, even those wandering around this old dilapidated house, seeking shelter from the outside world. But, of course, even the 'experts' had no idea about the real talisman. It had been destroyed so long ago, only to be recreated for ritualistic reasons, more of a trinket than a tool.

But the talisman meant nothing to her; it was simply a method to get Kim Possible's attention. True, it was a bit . . . unorthodox, but so was her way of life. She grinned, ducking into a back room and locking the door. It was dark, but it didn't bother her. She belonged to the dark. She was created from shadow and sorrow . . . but still she grinned. Setting the talisman on a nearby table, she turned to her unseen companion. "She's arrived."

A match was struck, and in the dim light, a figure cloaked all in white approached her. "Very good," he said, reaching out to her with a gloriously tanned hand. She took it, looking up to him, her other hand exploring the cloth across his chest until, at last, she found what she'd been looking for: a simple, gold cross hanging from a gold chain. "And may God let this work out."

With an almost longing look, she left him, taking the talisman, and went out in search of the girl known as Kim Possible.

* * *

Kim looked up, seeing the piercing green eyes that stared back at her, the almost vampiric grin that smiled at her. Her own emerald eyes shone with fear of the odd woman before her. "Well, now, look what I've found here." The woman wrapped her fingers, small as they were, around Kim's neck. "The world famous teen hero, Kim Possible." 

Kim stared at her, almost terrified, before regaining her composure, her dazed look turning to a glare. "So not," she snapped, rather severe compared to her normal tone. But before the woman could do anything, a lock of red hair fell down beneath the wig, brushing against her right temple and cheek. She quickly scrambled to replace it, but the woman's suspicions had been confirmed.

"Oh, I see," she said, advancing on her. "So what might be the explanation for the red hair? I'm sure you have some lie to tell me. Come on, try me. I'll be a 'badical' audience, as you'd say." Kim saw a flash from within the woman's coat, almost like finished black paint, dark and yet radiant at once. Instantly, she knew what it was, and, moreover, who this person must be.

Kim smirked and countered, "And I'm sure you must have an even more interesting lie to tell me about how you came across that." She gestured at the talisman. "Looks expensive. Ya know, like from a museum?" She whirled around as if to attack the woman, but when she made no moves in return, she saw no challenge, no will to go through with any sort of strike.

"What?" the woman said. "You want it? Go ahead and take it. It holds no importance to me." She held the object out in front of her, allowing it to dangle from the chain. At first, it remained still, simply suspended above the floor, but then, very slowly and only slightly at first, it began to swing back and forth, going against the laws of physics, gaining momentum and height as it went. She smiled. "It says you want it. But I'm sure, if it could say more, it would also comment that you don't know what it is."

Kim frowned. "It's stolen property, for one. And two, it can't talk. It's just a fancy necklace." She reached out to steal the charm away, but the woman pulled her hand away.

"Not so fast, you." She began circling Kim with slow, deliberate steps, her stiletto heels clicking in rhythm, as if the beat of a heart. She grinned. "Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you." And, with a little bit of a snicker, she added, "Yet."

"What do you want?" Kim asked, trying not to show her fear. She'd thought this mission would be harmless; a new villain rarely poses any physical threat. She lifted her chin a bit to emphasize her point, even though it appeared that, without those dreadfully tall heels, the woman was of less than average height. "And why did you steal the talisman?"

She stopped her pacing and seemed to consider the question for a moment. "Two reasons. First, I thought it would be a good idea to inform you that this talisman, as fancy and important as it looks, is a fake. Sure, it serves the function of your average pendulum, but it's not the original. It's a replica, and it's bad luck to lie to your little tourists, telling them that this is an important piece of Occult culture, you know. And second, I wanted to get your attention."

Kim stared at her for a second. ". . . why?" She took a battle stance, sick of this pointless banter. It was time for some action.

But the woman had a different plan. She thrust the talisman at her. "Here. Take it. It's of no use to me." Kim simply stared as the object was pressed into her hands, and, directly following, a stiff slip of paper. "Here's my card. Keep it some place safe. You'll need it someday."

Kim's brow creased into a confused frown. "Wha . . . ?"

The woman rolled her eyes hurriedly. "You need to leave. Now. But I will tell you this: soon, the most important things in your life will be ripped away from you, one by one. When this happens, you must contact me. Promise me you will. It's all I ask. I'm not your enemy. I'm your friend, and this you must believe."

Kim looked at her, puzzled, but soon was distracted by the sound of shattering glass. _Ron . . ._

* * *

Outside, Ron was pacing back and forth, up and down the walk. Kim should've been back by now. It was a simple mission, in and out and they were done. But she'd not returned. There was no sign of trouble from inside the house, but he only found that more unnerving. He couldn't let anything happen to Kim; he'd promised to take care of her. He checked his watch again. _Thirty minutes,_ he thought. She should've been back at least ten minutes ago. He was almost never the one calling the shots, but this time, it appeared he had to. 

He slowly started creeping around the exterior of the building, looking for a window through which he could see something, anything. They were all draped with black curtains, keeping his precious Kim from view. _No, don't do this to me, Kim . . ._ He glanced at his watch again. _Thirty-seven._ He kept telling himself that she was okay, that she was already out, through a back door perhaps, and she was looking for him. But his trademark optimism soon came to an end.

He'd found a window through which he could see, very little, though the rip in the curtain was. And there he saw Kim, actually frightened. There was a woman circling her, _menacingly,_ he thought. Uncharacteristic her fear was, and so Ron could only think the woman posed a threat against her life. _She's got a gun,_ he thought, jumping to the only conclusion that explained her expression.

And, without a second thought, he drew the grappler, pulled the trigger and winced as the glass of the window broke, as the threadbare curtain tore. There was a clatter of metal as it hooked onto a railing on the upper level of the house, where the ceiling of the lower floor raised to the roof. Surprisingly, he did not lose his pants this time, and he silently thanked his good luck. He didn't have time for that now. Quickly bracing himself against the windowsill, he pulled in some rope, and, with surprisingly adept technique, swung across the room, dodging anyone in his way, holding onto the grappler with one hand, the other arm reaching out to grab Kim's waist as he passed her.

She wrapped her arms round his neck, not sure of his plan, and even more confused at his sudden bravery and skill. Nonetheless, he'd saved her, although she was somehow now convinced that she'd been in no danger to begin with. As frightening and unexpected as their encounter had been, the woman had claimed to be her friend, and now she held in her hand both the talisman and the slip of paper she'd given her.

The crowd simply stared at them, shocked and angered at the intrusion, but, knowing they'd done nothing wrong, showed no fear. Finally landing, Ron looked around, and, upon seeing the various expressions on the people around him, laughed nervously and began tugging on the collar of his shirt. "Uh . . . h-h-hi. Uh . . . it looks like I got the wrong house. I'll . . . be leaving now." And with that he began backing towards the door, tugging Kim along with him. "Come on, KP, let's get outta here."

Kim followed him, the entire time watching her, the woman who had stolen the talisman. She knew she should have turned her in, she was a criminal, after all, but, looking at her now, she saw something else. She was frightening, true, but even now, gazing evenly at her with no sign of emotion, as a white cloaked figure came up behind her, resting tanned, masculine hands on her shoulders, she knew there was something different about her, something important.

* * *

_Please review!_


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: We know the drill by now, don't we? I DON'T OWN KIM OR RON OR ANYTHING! Except my original characters. You know which are which. ;)

_A Note from the Authoress: Okay. Finally an update! Sorry, I had finals and then I was really, really, really sick. No excuse, I know, but I had no attention span (like I ever do, but whatever). And personal issues with what I considered to be _my_ Ron. Stupid boys. But now it's done! And I have a warning: CHARACTER DEATH. Just so you know. And I apologize for any errors in continuity or repetitive word choice in the previous chapter. I was writing it between Madame Bovary and my calculus book. Stupid finals. :grumbles: So I was sort of preoccupied. Sorry. :( __Oh, and next chapter is the first interlude! Yay! And I think I know which one I'm going to do. ;) And! And! I'm already planning the sequel! (Although I'll be lucky if this is even half done by the end of the summer.) The sequel will be much darker and a lot more sensual (not that this is at all). I'm not sure how long this one will be. There's a long timeline to cover, but how much of it I'll actually address is still up in the air. We'll see. :)_

Anissa: _Thank you, dear. Recognizing any characters? If so, you'll see another familiar face in this chapter. :)  
_Jezrianna2.0: _Thank you muchly for your critique. As stated above, a lot of the things you mentioned I wasn't even aware I was doing, as I really didn't get a chance to read over the entire chapter all together. (Haha, that might be a good idea, huh?) However, a couple things you mentioned were intended for an effect, but I'm very glad you pointed them out, as I know now I need to work on them so they work properly. Thanks. :)  
_the Desert Fox: _Hmmm . . . I believe I'll address James' threats in a couple chapters. Keep your eyes open. ;) A: I don't think they set a specific place, either. But I've seen several people use Colorado, and, as I live there, I thought it would be a good place to write in, mostly because I'm so familiar with it. Thanks!  
_AlyRaven: _Oh, no! Not the CAPYBARAS! Noooooooo!  
_Visigoth29527: _The man and the woman? No . . . not quite. ;) You'll see. Thanks!  
_Everybody Else:_ Huggle! Thanks for reading!_

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* * *

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**Chapter Five**

Deep red fingernails drummed against the arm of a chair, breaking the silence of the dimly lit room. She'd been waiting for hours, but the wait would be worth it, she was sure. Kim Possible had met the only other person she feared, and they were prepared for their plans. Naturally, she'd already known Kim's fatal flaw, but it had been silly to act on it . . . until now. That damn woman just had to go off and steal that talisman. Wasn't breaking away from her enough? Or did she feel the need to rebel even more?

She sighed, stopping her rhythmical movements. She'd wished it wouldn't come to this. She wasn't exactly keen on killing. No, not killing in general, but backhanded treachery as would be necessary to rid her of this teen heroine. But with the recent turn of events, she had no choice, not if she wanted to achieve her goal. No, it wasn't to take over the world; that was too bland, too ordinary. All she wanted was to pose a threat to every nation in existence. She wouldn't have to worry about keeping everything under control; she could sit back and relax, let the little presidents and kings keep track of things, but if they ever did anything that displeased her, all it would take was a nuclear weapon aimed at their capitol, working behind the scenes so as not to give away her identity. She knew how to handle it all; it wouldn't be hard. But now she had to deal with Kim Possible. _She can do anything!_ No doubt she'd already been informed of her plans. That wouldn't stop her, though. No, this would work better than she could have ever hoped for. After all, someday they'd have to realize the limits of their love . . .

* * *

Kim jolted awake. _That was one weird dream . . ._ She rubbed at her temples for a moment, trying to remember the details, sensing some importance there. There'd been a woman there . . . she'd seen that face before . . . but, no. It wasn't the same one who'd given her the card, that much she remembered. The one she'd dreamt about had hair blacker than the night, and daggers . . . and a sword . . . and . . . a _gun_ . . . pressed against her temple. She shivered slightly, moving to pull the covers further over her shoulder, but found resistance.

After having left the house, they'd quickly found themselves in another argument. Kim had insisted that she was fine on her own and that Ron didn't need to worry about her to that extent just because their relationship had taken the next step. Ron had tried not to argue, but found Kim's insolence infuriating and, in one brief moment of uncharacteristic rage, he'd snapped at her. Of course, he'd immediately apologized, but those harsh words were enough to keep her silent with guilt for several hours, until finally, curled up in her bed, Kim had felt her blankets move to wrap around her more warmly. She'd opened her eyes to find Ron leaning over her, tucking her in. She'd smiled meekly as he'd leaned down and softly kissed her forehead, brushing her wet hair away from her forehead. "I'm sorry," they'd whispered in unison. "Jinx," she'd murmured. And with that, they'd said their goodnights and turned out the lights.

_One more fight evaded . . . _She sighed and curled up more tightly into herself, only to feel something scratching at her breast and hear the rustle of paper. _Wha . . . ?_ She quickly thrust her hand into the oversized tee-shirt (that happened to belong to Ron) she'd employed as pajamas for the night and found the offensive slip of cardstock. Holding it up to the dim light shining through the curtains, she saw no name, no label of belonging save for the image of a black rose inscribed across the top and, below it, a seven digit number.

_Soon, the most important things in your life will be ripped away from you, one by one. When this happens, you must contact me. Promise me you will . . ._

She turned the card over in her fingers. _Rose . . ._ Quickly, she concluded that that must be the strange woman's name. The entire incident confused her. Why had she been so afraid? She'd faced some of the most vicious criminal minds in the world, and not once had she been so scared. And now, she meets some woman, barely a woman, too, perhaps only a few years older than herself, and she was frightened out of her wits. And to top it all off, the woman posed no outward threat, she held no weapons, took no battle stance, threatened her only jokingly and never with any true malice, and even claimed to be her friend, but all the same Kim had been afraid. She hastily stashed the card in her utility belt that was conveniently hanging from the bedpost beside her. Naturally, she didn't take Rose's warnings seriously, but . . . better safe than sorry, right?

She rolled over to see if that position offered more comfort or warmth. And there, perched on the edge of her bed, somehow having drifted off while sitting upright, was Ron. She smiled at him for a moment before reaching over to take one of his hands between both of her own. He murmured something unintelligible in his sleep and clasped his hand tightly around hers. Closing her eyes, she brought his fingers up to her cheek. _Ron . . . what's to become of us? _She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She often wondered if they'd done the right thing, taking the next step, that is. True, they'd only grown closer since the Prom, but had it also done irreparable damage to their friendship? Should they take a step backward, would things ever be the same again? Not due to the romantic aspect of their lives now, but because of their little conflicts . . . did they only apologize now because they felt it a responsibility brought on by their romantically intimate situation? Would they care so much about making up if these conflicts were brought on by growing platonic closeness? That was the problem: she didn't know.

He shifted in his sleep, moving to lean against the bedpost on his side, his head hitting the wood with a loud thump, causing him to moan softly and her to open her eyes. She smiled, gazing up at him. Seeing him like this, so intent on staying close to her, protecting her, needless as it may be, pushed all her doubts aside. She realized that she wouldn't trade this for anything. Despite his faults, despite their differences, despite the complications, she knew she couldn't even imagine living without this man; he completed her and, through any argument, any struggle, she'd be with him until the day she died. As morbid as the thought was, she found that the only acceptable way to die would be in his arms.

Ron was snoring lightly. She considered waking him, to tell him to go back to his own bed and get a good night's rest; they were going back to school in the morning, after all. Nevermind they'd not be doing anything of importance; the day after a snow day is always dull and pointless. Wouldn't want any classes to be ahead of others now, huh? Block scheduling was a lifesaver when it came to missions and homework . . . _and_ snow days. Chances were that they'd be watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail in over half their classes tomorrow. Not that she was complaining, how else do you keep a group of teenagers entertained for an extended period of time?

Still, he should get some sleep. She thought about inviting him to crawl under the covers with her, but before she could move to wake him, fatigue overcame her, her eyes drifted closed and she murmured "Goodnight, Ron," before finally giving into the welcoming realm of dreams.

* * *

It had all started like a normal day in the world of working for the infamous Dr. Drakken. He'd ranted about his new plot to take over the world, and she'd made sarcastic remarks at him, just to see how peeved he'd get at her. Yes, it had all been perfectly normal. She'd filed her nails and helped polish that overly silly doomsday device to its sparkling glory. There'd been a trip on the alarm. Nothing too unusual, it was probably Kim Possible. She'd readied for battle, same old same old . . .

No, she couldn't recall what had happened next. That's when it had all begun, wasn't it? That was the beginning of the end for the formerly indestructible entity known as Shego.

There she sat, drenched in her own blood, weakened but not dead thanks to the healing powers granted her by the comet. She felt the wounds on her face heal, painfully, but it was certainly better than the stinging sensation that plagued her should they be left open, only amplified by the salt from the tears that coursed down her cheeks. _This can't be the end . . ._ For the first time in her life, she got down on her knees and cried. Sobs wracked her usually strong frame as she clung to the fabric of his coat, struggling with the weight brought on by his limp body, still warm, as if alive. "Wake up, Dr. D., please . . . wake up . . ." She buried her face into his chest, murmuring of how sorry she was for everything she'd ever done, ever said to him. "I'm afraid . . . please, wake up . . ." Shego was but a frightened little girl, shaking with the pain, both physical and mental, that shot through her veins. For once, she feared death. No, it wasn't that she'd never feared it; it was that for the first time, she saw death as a reality. And now, the only comfort she had was that maybe, just maybe, this man who'd put up with her through so many years, and kept her on for some sort of companionship, as twisted as their relationship may be, was still somehow alive. True, his skin was paler and bluer than normal, but his body was warm, and it held some hope.

But when she received no answer, and no breath passed through his lips, and his heart remained still, silent, un-beating, she knew this was the end. _No, I can't die like this . . ._ But something at the back of her mind reminded her that this pain was greater than she'd ever felt before, and that she was not immortal; she could die. No, she _would_ die. The physical blows had been easy enough to overcome, but the ringing in her head, the thousand icy knives that stabbed her from inside only grew in force. Whatever this was, it was ruthless, unbeatable. It must have been some form of black magic. She whimpered. _My only friend dead and I'm soon to follow . . ._ Another wave of pain shot through her limbs, paralyzing any voluntary movement, causing her body to spasm as if struck by lightning. She tried to cry out but found she couldn't. Shadow clouded her vision as mist engulfed her mind, leaving blind, dizzy and lost. She struggled to pull herself into another position, to protect herself, but to no avail, slipping in her own blood. She whimpered.

"Well, well, well, I see you're still alive," came a scornful voice. "I knew you were strong, but _this _strong? I'm impressed. I've never known anyone to survive such pain, and even remain conscious." Shego looked up to see a woman standing over her, her dark skin bared by her whorish clothing, or rather lack thereof. The woman held out one hand and Shego felt a surge of energy run down her spine. She twisted the hand, slowly at first, and finally jerking it around, bringing a jolt of power into Shego's body, causing it to convulse violently, coiling unnaturally on the floor.

Shego looked up at the beastly woman before her, glaring vengefully, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. "Bitch," she rasped.

The enigma raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow. "Oh? Me? A bitch?" Shego glared and tried to stand, but found her legs would not hold her wait. She tried to crawl toward her, but slipped in the sticky red liquid, her chin hitting the concrete floor with a loud crack. She cried out. The woman stepped forward, spiked heels clicking. "Look who's talking." She smirked. "I'm not the one crawling on the ground like a dog."

The woman snapped her fingers and Shego's body suffered a fierce seizure. Shego's eyes, bloodshot, stared up at her with vengeance. "What do you want with me?" She growled viciously, and, in a rash moment of hopelessness, wailed, "Why don't you just kill me already?" She shuddered painfully once more.

The woman seemed to consider, pacing back and forth before circling Shego aggressively, spiraling in toward her, blood splashing up against her boots, kicking it up onto Shego's already soaked form. "Giving up already?" she pondered aloud, red lacquered nails stroking her chin thoughtfully. "I'd have assumed you were stronger than that, considering you've managed to survive thus long." She snickered quietly to herself. "And I thought you could've been of use to me!" She sighed. "Very well, then." And with that she shot a finger toward the torn and battered being before her, causing it to break out in wave after wave of tremors, splashing even more blood up on itself.

"Wait!" Shego shrieked. She managed, with great difficulty, to claw her way up to a half sitting position, more red liquid dripping from the corners of her mouth and nose. Her lip quivered. "What do you mean, you thought I could've been some use to you?" The heel of her right hand slipped and she plunged face first toward the ground once more.

"Well," the woman explained, a harsh tone in her voice, "You were so strong, I _thought_ you'd make an excellent companion." Shego looked up at her, inspecting her appearance a bit more thoroughly. She noted the dark skin, the claw-like nails, the black leather that hardly covered her in a decent manner, the thick black hair tucked behind one ear with a delicate white flower. "I doubted you at first, considering your current – oh, wait, I'm sorry, I mean your former employer – you seemed mediocre at best."

Shego snarled, not certain whether in response to the affront to Drakken or to herself.

"But up until a few moments ago, you'd proven yourself worthy." She flipped her hair slightly, allowing Shego a glimpse at her jade-colored eyes.

"Worthy of what?" she responded skeptically.

The woman laughed. "Oh, my dear, so naïve . . . you've been trying for so long, and you _still_ don't know what you've been working towards, all this time?" She considered unleashing another spell on the poor creature, but stopped herself. No . . . this girl could prove useful. Perhaps she _was_ evil enough for such a destiny. "Haven't you always wanted to rule the world?" She smiled, and Shego could have sworn that she'd seen fangs pressing into the woman's lower lip.

With great physical effort, Shego smiled. "Now you're speaking my language," she sang, arching her eyebrows.

"So," the woman began, "Do we have some sort of agreement?" She glanced at her nails as if to check to see if they needed any filing, and Shego immediately formed a liking for this woman, mostly because she reminded her a great deal of herself.

A mischievous sparkle filled her eyes as the pain receded and recent events seemed to hold no weight. The most important thing now was the future, a future in which she and this mysterious woman (although she already had plans for a mutiny once she'd evaded doing anything too difficult) would take over the world. Of course, she'd not seen this new villain's plans, nor was she familiar with any of her past work (after all, she'd just been made aware of her existence at all a few hours prior), but she had faith in her. After all, she had managed to destroy Drakken. _Drakken . . ._ No, she couldn't think like that, not now. There were more important things to be done. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I believe we do."

The woman turned away from her as if to leave the lair, but soon looked over her shoulder at Shego with one raised eyebrow. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," Shego said, a bit hesitantly, "Of course. But . . . what's your name?"

The woman smiled, and, once again, Shego couldn't help but notice her sharp canines. "You may call me Lilly," she stated and began to walk away, the flower that had previously stayed so obediently in her hair falling to the ground, shriveling as the soft white petals became soaked with blood.

She looked behind herself once more, seeing Drakken's lifeless body, abandoned. She felt a pang of remorse, but, before her mind could take her on a mental trip to the past, the clicking of Lilly's stilettos caught her attention. _I'm sorry . . ._ And she sped along after her._

* * *

Beep beep beep-beep!_

Kim moaned and rolled over sleepily. No, she was most certainly not in the mood to wake up and go to school. She knew very well that it was just Wade checking in to remind them that their ride would be picking them up in fifteen to take them back to Middleton High. Maybe she could just pretend to still be asleep . . . ?

Beep beep beep-beep!

She looked up to see Ron stirring as if he were to wake. She sighed, knowing that should she not answer it now, he'd hear it and rouse, probably only to nudge her until she did the same to answer the offending mechanism. _Argh . . ._ She rolled over and dug the Kimmunicator out of the pocket on her utility belt.

_Beep beep bee-!_

"Go, Wade," Kim said softly, so as not to wake Ron, and then yawned enormously.

"Kim," Wade began in a more serious tone than that he would use to simply say 'Get dressed and go to school!' "We've got trouble."

Kim immediately sat up, brushing her hair from her face and rubbing sleepily at her eyes, although with those words, she was instantly awake. "What's the sitch?" She still spoke low, a habit when someone's asleep beside you.

"What do you think about missing another day of school?" Wade asked, although there was no joy or humor in his voice, as if he'd matured to twice his age.

"Another day off? Slammin'," she thought aloud. "But why?" She pulled the comforter that had fallen to her lap up around herself, fighting off the chill. "My parents won't be happy if they find out I missed an entire day of school for a mission." She pondered a bit on whether or not to take the responsible approach. Naturally, her Kim-ness told her to go to school and take the mission after, but the logical thought that she wouldn't be missing anything still nagged at her. Her parents' lectures still rattling on in her head, she sighed and relented, "Can't it wait?"

Suddenly busy typing on his multiple consoles, Wade explained, "I already discussed it with your parents. They said they're cool as long as I contact your teachers."

"And?" She shook the Kimmunicator a bit impatiently, curious as to what could be so important that Wade would request her missing school.

"And all of your teachers for today said you guys were watching Monty Python and-"

"And the Holy Grail?" she said, probably a bit more enthusiastically than she'd intended.

"Uh . . . yeah," he said, finishing off his calculations with a few expert keystrokes. "So there's no problem there. Everything's taken care of. Your ride'll be there in fifteen, so I'd beat Ron to the shower if I were you."

Kim considered explaining to Wade that she'd showered last night in an effort to both avoid Ron and get the kinks out of her hair (she always hated wearing wigs undercover for that very reason), but decided that Wade didn't need to know (and would probably be thoroughly disturbed if she told him) about Ron's and her bathing arrangements, especially when sharing a hotel room. "Yeah, sure," she said with a wave of her hand. "But what's so important? Another magical amulet needing recovery? Doomsday device to disarm? Those things have always waited before . . ."

"We've found Drakken's lair," he stated flatly, taking a distracted sip from his soda.

"Okay . . . so what makes this top priority?" She laughed a bit. "I mean, it's bad hero form to crash the villain's lair before there's anything suspicious going on." Her voice was filled with humor, but from the expression on Wade's face, she realized this was no laughing matter. "Wade, what's the sitch?" she said emphatically.

"There have been reports of weird happenings around his lair . . ."

"Oh, so he _is_ up to something. So what is it this time? Strange heat signature readings? Reversed polarity in a mile's radius?"

"Screams . . ." he breathed, his mind somewhere far-off.

"Screams?" she quested, now somewhat aware of the seriousness of the situation.

"Horrible, mindless, pained screams. I think someone's trapped inside . . ." The magnitude of the situation seemed to bring out his true age. He was a kid, a brilliant kid, but still a kid, and he couldn't even begin to comprehend the agony he'd heard. He pressed a key on his keyboard, and instantly shrieks and cries for mercy erupted from the Kimmunicator, the voice so distorted in grief it wasn't even recognizable. Kim winced and lowered her eyes.

"We're on it," she said softly.

"Wade out," he murmured and the screen went black.

She sighed, settling her hands, along with the Kimmunicator, in her lap. Ron stirred and finally waked. "KP?" he asked upon opening his eyes. "What's wrong?" He tenderly laid a hand on hers.

She looked up at him and smiled sadly. "Oh, hey, Ron." She shifted to lean against him, her back firmly against his chest. Immediately accommodating her, he looped both his arms around her waist as she gathered her thoughts, her head turned to press her face into his pajama top. After a moment, she pursed her lips together before beginning to tell him all that Wade had told her. She did not look up to see his reaction, knowing very well that his face had paled and his jaw had dropped. This wasn't their average type of mission; it was a step up. But it also meant Drakken had taken the next step. _Is he really torturing someone in there?_

Once Kim had finished the tale, they sat in silence, Ron holding Kim protectively, allowing his fingers to soothe her abdomen through the fabric of her (well, really it was his) shirt. In an attempt to break the tension, he murmured, "I really hope this isn't another overnight mission."

She instantly smiled before turning to give him a convincing pout (although it was not quite up to par with the infamous Puppy Dog Pout). "Why's that?"

"Well," he began, "I don't think my parents are liking me spending the night with you multiple nights in a row." He squeezed her tightly. "Surprisingly, I don't think they're as trusting as your parents."

"My dad? Trusting?" She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I know. _Shocking, isn't it?_" He gave his best Falsetto Jones impression.

She chuckled before pressing a finger to his chest. "Our ride's going to be here in, like, ten." She sniffed him and grimaced. "And _you_ need to take a shower."

He scooted back slightly in mock offense. "You don't like the way the Ronster smells?" And with no warning at all, he pinned down on the bed, leaning over her, only a breath away.

"No," she whispered, "I love it." And with that he cupped her cheek in his hand, bending down to kiss her tenderly, although chastely, on the lips.

* * *

_Please, review!_


	7. First Interlude: Bury My Lovely

Disclaimer: I don't own KimPossible or any of its characters.

_A Note from the Authoress:I had this ready to post on June7th for a very specific reason, but today is the firstday ffn's let me upload anything. This is a very long authoress' note, I know, but it's an important one to me, and might save a life, so please read. So the following note is dated June 7, 2005:_

_**A Memorium:**_

_Six months ago, on December 7, 2004, one of the greatest young minds passed away at the tender age of seventeen. His name was Kyle E. Jones and he was one of the greatest friends I've ever had in my entire life. He was intelligent (they sent his laptop to the FBI to crack all his locks on his files, to my knowledge they've still had no luck at all), kind and a savior to so many of us. Many of my friends wanted to kill themselves, one even found her way into the hospital because she cut so deep. He was there holding her hand, making her swear she'd never, ever do anything like that ever again. She'd found her best friend dead in a pool of her own blood a year prior. And on December 7th, halfway through first period, our school went on lockdown. Our calculus teacher informed us that something had happened in the upper parking lot by the South Building, so we weren't allowed outside the room. Our calculus class was extended by an hour that day, and no-one would tell us anything. Mostly juniors park in that lot, so my friends and I spent the entire class worrying about our friends. We thought it was a car accident. We were released to our second period class, and one of the freshmen in the class I assisted said her teacher had slipped and informed them that someone had died. There were rumors of suicide. We went to third period on time, and someone said the kid's name was Kyle. My friend and I immediately thought of _our_ Kyle, but quickly pushed it aside, as it was a common name. A little into class, she was called out to the counselor's. I thought it was about her schedule. She did not return before lunch. I was petrified that it was my friend all lunch long, until finally, she came, in tears, and told me that one of our dearest friends had shot himself that morning. I won't say any more about that day and the days that followed; they were wrought with distress and terrible thoughts that I realized, Kyle would never approve of. He'd never told us that when we weren't around, he was teased because he was overweight, and didn't care about wearing stylish clothes, and loved his sideburns. No wonder he only told a few of us he was gay. But now I know. We made shirts that said "Got love? Words hurt the worst." And ya know what? It's true. And I have a mission for all of you still reading this; my friend, Annie, told us to do this at his funeral, and this is a great place to spread it and apply it. Everyday, I want you to compliment someone, tell them they're loved, comment on their shirt, ANYTHING. Even someone you don't know. It'll make a difference, and who knows? Maybe it'll keep someone from being trapped in the dark like Kyle was. Cos now I know: I can't bring him back, but I can change my life for him, and share it with him._

_Kyle Jones, died December 7, 2004_

_I love you, Kyle._

_And now for a real Author's Note: This story is progressing nicely, however, I've reached the infamous Hole In The Middle Of The Plot, and it's going to take a while for me to outline this middle section. It's a great deal of cutting out useless things, while keeping landmarks in the timeline and major character development. Not to mention, I'd like to write something else, maybe some one-shots, something from a darker fandom, outline the sequel ;) In other words, this story is going on hiatus. Not that I won't update at random intervals, but that this will only be written WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT :D. And the sequel's going to be frickin' cool. Creepy, but cool. Sensual and a lot darker, I'm sensing an M rating._

_And a little note about the Interludes: They don't really fit in with the plot. One could say they're dreams, but they won't be referred to in the remainder of the story, except maybe in exposition, but that's just resonance. ;) Generally, they're based upon/inspired by/set to/done with some song. Not necessarily a songfic, but this one is, although it started as just an inspired by. Sometimes they're symbolic, sometimes they're foreshadowing, and sometimes they're set entirely AFTER the story (which I'll inform you of when that one comes about). This particular one is very . . . odd and sort of unnerving. Like most of them, it's written in a sort of fly-on-the-wall view-point with a rather cinematic feel. Also, this one foreshadows the remainder of this story and the general plotline of the sequel. Rather directly, too. And it's WEIRD and it might not make sense. But it WILL and that's the point. ;) The song 'Bury My Lovely' is by a wonderful band called October Project on their self-titled album. Highly recommended._

_(No personal messages this time cos I wrote such a frickin' long note prior, but it was important to me.)_

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**First Interlude: _Bury My Lovely_**

Looking around, Kim realized she'd never been in this room before, and, with closer examination, that she'd never even seen this house before. She walked slowly, floorboards creaking under her weight, to the small, round window positioned just below the low ceiling there. She bent down to peer outside.

_Cover the mirror,_

_Hide in your dreams, _

_Forget what they told you, _

_Forget what it means . . . _

There she saw a car parked in the driveway, a modest little sedan, tin cans tied to the bumper, along with a handmade sign that read "JUST MARRIED" on the rear. She smiled upon realizing that the little car was the one Ron had begged his parents to let him have after Jim and Tim had confiscated his scooter for 'further modifications.' Beside it was a basketball hoop, wilting a bit, the rim a tad bent out of shape, but perfectly fit for a little game of one on one. As a matter of fact, a blonde and a redhead, both seemingly in their early twenties were currently engaged in a fierce competition of basketball, tackles, tickles, giggles and glomps. She smiled at them for a moment, before the redhead turned and looked up toward the attic window, apparently not seeing Kim watching her. Kim's mouth dropped slightly and her eyes widened. That face . . . she knew that face. It was undeniably her own. Of course, this Kim was older, terrible pain lying somewhere in her wiser eyes. Her hair was shorter, but still layered, leaving it longer than her mother's, and she seemed to have finally finished filling out in the past several years. The blonde turned, too, and, as Kim had expected upon coming to terms with the fact that she was watching her older self, smiling with the older Kim was an older Ron, matured greatly from his gawkish teenage years. His hair had finally managed to settle in its normal style without any strands sticking up in awkward places at equally awkward angles, and is freckles had faded, leaving only his smile to reflect his childish personality. He, too, had filled out; his shoulders broad and his muscles tight, obvious even through his trademark baggy clothing. The younger Kim grinned, remembering how everyone had seen Ron as such a wimp all through high school, and now . . . he was what every girl dreamed of. No, he'd always been, they'd just been too blind to see it . . . and so had she. She couldn't help but notice the matching bands on each of their wedding fingers.

_A picture worth a thousand lies . . ._

She turned from the window to inspect the remainder of her surroundings. It was dusty, naturally, but obviously having just been unpacked after their move in. _Who ever heard of an attic being unpacked?_ But she quickly realized that in a few years she would understand why. She wandered over to a small table, recognizing it from her own attic, her parents', that is. Lying on top was an envelope marked "PROM PICTURES I". Curious, she lifted the flap and pulled out a short stack of photographs, featuring her and . . . Erik. She sighed slightly, then noticed that the entire top of the stack had a small tear at the top, fingerprints smudging Erik's face accordingly. _I tried to . . . rip it in half . . ._ Smiling approvingly to herself, she replaced the photos and the envelope.

_The mem'ry and the mirror, _

_Nothing but what came before, _

_Nothing but a closing door . . . _

She wandered over to an antique vanity, tucked away in the corner, the large mirror trimmed with a fine scroll engraving on the wood. She peered into the looking glass, her reflection smiling back at her. She was about to continue on with her exploration of this attic, but before she turned away, another reflection materialized beside her own. Blonde hair, freckles and chocolate brown eyes beamed back at her. She turned, but Ron was not there, only his reflection. She gazed at the images for a moment. _We look so happy . . ._ Their arms were around one another, her head tucked lovingly beneath his chin. But, before long, his image began to fade, leaving Kim's reflection, face contorted in grief, tears falling down her cheeks.

_A picture worth a thousand lies, _

_A thousand words, _

_A thousand eyes . . . _

She approached the mirror in several quick steps, confused and distressed. The sad Kim took on a look of determination, and two other figures joined hers.

_Bury my lovely, _

_Hide in your room, _

_Bury my lovely, _

_Forget me soon, _

_Forget me . . . _

_Forget me now, _

_Forget me not . . . _

The first was a woman in her early twenties with green eyes and hair that shone of black, brown, blonde and red cascading down her back. She was dressed entirely in black, a dagger hanging from her belt and a gun holstered at her side. A thin band graced her wedding finger and her pale skin shone against the dark void behind her. The other was a man, a few years older than the woman, with dark skin and hair that contrasted against his white clothing. He, too, holstered a gun, although it looked out of place with the simple gold cross that hung around his neck, and the worn Bible tucked beneath his arm.

_Cover the madness, _

_Cover the fear, _

_No-one will ever _

_Know you were here . . . _

She knew she recognized those faces, but at first she could not place where. But they did not threaten her. Somehow she knew they were friends, just somehow . . . The two forms smiled at the reflected Kim, each placing a hand on her shoulder. She could barely make it out, but she was certain the couple were clasping hands. And, as quickly as they'd come, they began to fade away. _Rose . . . _

_A figure in the hallway light, _

_Returning like a ghost . . . _

The image of Kim began to look weak and wavered, as if she were to fall, but before the dizziness overcame her, another image appeared, holding her tightly around the waist. It was Ron, ever faithful, ever dependable. The real Kim blinked several times, trying to make sense of it all. She knew it must be some sort of sign, some sort of warning given her in this dreamlike world. But fatigue began to greet her, and she settled to just watch as she and Ron began to age to the condition she'd just seen them in outside, playing basketball.

_Something that was left behind, _

_Something in a child's mind . . . _

A small child materialized between them, a little girl with long blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She had Kim's beauty and Ron's wonderful, glowing smile. However, unlike her parents, she had more deeply tanned skin and a certain spark in those glowing green depths. One of Kim's hands was settled lovingly on the child's shoulder, the other covering Ron's, tenderly resting on her waist.

_A picture worth a thousand lies, _

_A thousand words, _

_A thousand eyes . . . _

Kim opened her mouth and reached toward the mirror, cautiously, wondering what secrets it kept locked within.

_Bury my lovely, _

_Hide in your room, _

_Bury my lovely, _

_Forget me soon, _

_Forget me . . . _

_Forget me now, _

_Forget me not . . . _

The image shifted, and above the child's head, Ron was pressing his lips against Kim's, holding her close. Their daughter was grimacing, covering her eyes to hide from her parents' romantic gestures.

_Bury my lovely, _

_Bury the lies, _

_Bury me under _

_A thousand goodbyes . . . _

Slowly, the girl began to pass out of view, followed by Kim herself, leaving Ron alone, his face in his hands, crying.

Kim stepped forward, her fingertips pressing against the glass. Ron's image shook and disappeared.

_A shadow from another time, _

_Is waiting in the night, _

_Something happened long ago, _

_Something that will not let go . . . _

Replacing their once happy family was the image of a woman in her late twenties, dark skin bared by the minimal amounts of black clothing that adorned her athletic body. Her long dark hair hung down the front of her face (where had she seen that face? Once more she found that something lingered in the back of her mind, just out of her reach), tucked behind one ear along with a delicate white flower. She grinned maliciously at Kim, one eyebrow arched menacingly. 'Vengeance,' she mouthed, baring sharp canines. Kim stared.

_Bury my lovely, _

_Hide in your room, _

_Bury my lovely . . . _

The woman faded away, an image of Kim and Ron replacing her. Ron held Kim so tightly, so fiercely, the real Kim felt weak at the knees, her stomach twisting painfully as she realized that she was dying. Not the physical Kim, but the one behind the glass . . . trembling as tears drifted down her face, mirroring Ron's.

_Forget me soon, _

_Forget me . . . _

_Forget me now, _

_Forget me not . . . _

Ron's arms were soon empty, holding a woman that was no longer there, crying in solitude. The image was so vivid, so real, Kim tried to call out to him, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came forth. She banged her fists against the mirror, causing the glass to shatter, cutting into the skin on her palms. She looked round for something to staunch the bleeding with, but soon, everything began to fade into darkness.

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_Please, read and review!_


	8. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Don't own KP. So sad for me.

_A Note from the Authoress: Okay, I know I said this story was going on hiatus, but as soon as I said that, I got inspired. Woops! And, if you actually like this story, you'll be happy to hear that it's now the first in a trilogy, the End of All Hope Trilogy, to be exact. I know the titles of all three novels, but I'm not going to release the title of the next until the last chapter of the preceding. Just cos it'll be something for y'all to think over. ;) I'd say we're about a quarter of the way through this one, which'll probably be the longest, because it has the biggest cast and most character development. Also probably the biggest history lessons._

_Along those lines, I know that some things don't make sense yet, but don't doubt me, they will. Chances are if you don't get it, you aren't supposed to quite yet. It's confusing so it'll stick in your minds and when it's touched upon later, you'll go "Oh, yeah!" And in this chapter, you'll see references to a woman named Lilith. She's a mythological figure, and if you don't know who she is, no big. In a while (okay, a long while, but it won't matter until then), the story will address all the various forms of the Lilith myths and the particular one that I (shamelessly) created for this story. So don't worry. :)_

_The Desert Fox: Thanks! And yeah, it's unusual, just like my mind. ;) Hopefully you'll find the next couple chapters a bit more straight forward. Not necessarily this one, but the next several go back to normal life and less creepy Who The Hell Are These People stuff.  
warprince2000: Hahah! You're in luck! Originally I was going to wait a couple months for the next chapter. ;)  
Everyone Else: Hope you enjoy! And if you haven't yet, start reviewing!_**

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Chapter Six

"Kim, for once I'm going to ask you to just storm in there," Wade's voice came through the Kimmunicator as Kim and Ron ran through the tunnel leading to Drakken's newest lair. She wondered absently why it always had to be a lair, besides that whole villain canon thing, of course. Wouldn't it be a whole lot less conspicuous if he stationed himself in a roomy ranch style home with an enormous lot? And probably less expensive, too. No, there wasn't time to think about that now. Someone was in there, and it was her job to get them out.

"Are you sure that's safe, Wade?" Ron chimed in from beside her, before she could express the same apprehensions. However it was obviously some attempt at protecting her, although she felt that somehow she'd be protecting him . . . but she didn't want to squash his dreams.

"There's no time for safety," Wade explained. "You guys will undoubtedly get away like you always do, but if you take too much time, the hostage may take a turn for the worse."

"What about those heat signature things you always look for? Can't that help us at all?" Ron queried, really not in the mood to be putting Kim's life in that much danger.

"Everything's blocked. I don't know how. I can't get any reading at all." Wade's face sank even further. "This is the only way to ensure the hostage's safety."

"And if Drakken does something rash in response to our appearance?" Kim asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Then at least we tried," he answered solemnly.

Ron nodded and Kim and Wade said their goodbyes, signing off. Kim shoved the Kimmunicator in her cargo pants' pocket. Ron took her hand instinctively, making her stop just shy of the door, mysteriously unlocked, as shown by the lit icon above the oversized frame. "Ron!" She tried to tug her hand free, but he held on. "We've really not got ti-"

She was silenced by his lips firmly pressing against her own, his hands clasping her body closely to his. She felt her knees go weak and melted against him, momentarily forgetting Drakken, Shego, the hostage, Wade and the mission altogether, her entire being concentrating on the man that held her, and the love he showed. She moaned quietly into him, pressing her body more firmly to his. He held onto her upper arms, running his fingers over the soft fabric of her shirt. And, while she was still dazed, he broke away and ran ahead and into the lair.

Kim stood, stunned, staring after him. Ron was rarely one to be so witty . . . or brave. She knew that he was not implying that she could not handle herself . . . his kiss had said it all. He simply wanted to protect her from harm, even though she was obviously adept enough to handle herself in any situation, and he rather inept. It was a way for him to show his affection; something beyond jewelry and dates and gifts and cheesy love notes. This was something no other man would ever offer her, his life for her own.

Several mechanical doors and random choices as to direction later, he'd finally found something: unfortunately it was what they all were dreading. Ron took a few steps back, stunned. The sight before him caused his stomach to churn, the undeniable stench sinking into his illness. His jaw stood agape, his skin turned a whiter shade of pale. But there was no-one coming to stop his intrusion. Of course there wasn't . . . there was no-one left.

He was surrounded by bodies, some lying broken, helpless, as if granted a painless death, others drowning in wine-like oceans, glittering red in the dim light, and still there were suits of skin shriveled up to nothing, as there were no skeletons to retain their form, soaked and floating in puddles of green syntho-goo. Ron gulped and began walking through the mass of bodies and fluid, slowly, carefully, trying not to disturb the scene; walking around was no choice, there was no clean path on the chamber floor.

His steps were wavering, the smell of so much blood causing him to go faint, but he could not stop. He had to see what lay behind the door: more bodies or an arch foe gone completely insane. Either way, there was no turning back. This was his turn to be the hero. It was nothing to do with vanity or pride, but that he knew this was his duty. To whom? He did not know. But he was certain that this was something he had to do for himself: to know, to see . . .

He pressed the button; the door slid open.

And what he saw caused him to grow sick to his stomach once again. Resisting the urge to retch, he took a few steps forward to confirm what he'd thought he saw. There, lying in a pool of blood, was the body of the one and only Dr. Drakken . . . or should they call him Drew Lipsky now? Those thoughts were the only things keeping his mind from the horrifying spectacle before him. His body was twisted at awkward angles, his hands still frozen in agony, his face pained, pitiful. _But where's Shego?_

He looked round once more. The lair seemed as if it had been mostly empty to begin with, leaving no signs of struggle . . . except that anyone that had been here was dead. He immediately came to the conclusion that Shego was responsible for it all, but after a quick examination of the scene, he realized that this was not Shego's work. She'd never be able to inflict this sort of damage. No, this was someone else. _Something_ else. But her body was not to be found. He cringed, trying his best not to be sick . . . he had to be strong. But for what? For Kim. Yes, that was true motivation; he had to be strong for Kim. _Kim . . ._

As if on cue, another door, on his right, slid open to reveal Kim, at first unfazed: apparently she'd not found any slaughtered henchmen on her way. But her neutral expression soon faded upon seeing Drakken's body. The color drained from her face as she trembled, her legs buckling beneath her. Swiftly, Ron ran the short distance to her, catching her before she collapsed entirely. She regained her footing and approached the body. She noted the several gashes covering his abdomen, and the way they were arranged as if to form some sort of horrific design. A flower, she concluded. With that, she saw significance in the ruined white lily lying near the villain's corpse. "A lily . . ." she murmured.

Drawing nearer the body, she was overcome with the horrific scene she'd entered, and, in one wave of nausea, collapsed to the ground, throwing up in the blood that was now soaking through her cargo pants. Ron was instantly by her side, holding back her hair, rubbing her back soothingly. She shivered uncontrollably, her body wracked with sobs. Though she'd saved the world countless times, she'd never witnessed such terror with her own eyes, almost to the point that she didn't think it could happen, as if these sorts of things only happened in the movies, and that all villains used silly threats like Drakken, and anything that was serious was easily escapable. But this was the hard truth, the underground of the hero world to which she belonged: the possibility of failure. Even if this was the end of a criminal, this was terrorism, not some effort in ridding the world of villainy, but villainy itself.

She gagged once more, but forced herself to hold it down. She could not seem weak. She could handle this. She could do anything. She whimpered.

Ron carefully gathered her in his arms, crouching in blood himself, cradling her protectively against him, trying not to give in to the tears that came to his own eyes, or the terrible contractions in his gut. Stroking her hair lightly, he continuously murmured, "Sh . . . It's okay, Kim . . . I've got ya . . ." and the like. He ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and set about wiping her mouth clean. When he finished, she smiled slightly up at him.

"Thanks," she whispered.

He simply held her more tightly against himself, rocking her from side to side, humming the tune to their song softly into her ear. He told himself it was in an effort to calm her, but in the end he couldn't deny it was the only way to give himself the strength to take control of this situation. Kim needed him, and he wouldn't let her down.

"Ron . . ." she moaned quietly.

"Hush," he soothed. "Why don't you just go to sleep? I'll handle this."

She moved to protest, but quickly realized that should this be a dream (a dream, a dream, it had to be a dream, that was the only explanation), if she'd go to sleep, when she'd wake up, it would all be gone, and she'd be on her living room couch again, resting in Ron's arms, having fallen asleep watching T.V.. She settled her head against his shoulder and drifted off.

After assuring she was all right, he held onto her with one arm and, with the other, reached into Kim's pant pocket and pulled out the Kimmunicator, pressing the button to sign on.

Wade popped onto the screen. "Ron!" He looked down to see Kim lying, slumbering, in his friend's arms. "What happened? What's wrong with Kim?"

Ron gulped. "We've got a major sitch here, Wade." He sympathetically glanced down to Kim, still shaken from the drama. He'd played thousands of violent and gory videogames, although that really was nothing like this. All the same, it gave him an advantage Kim didn't have. "Kim's pretty . . . shook up. I finally got her to calm down."

Wade was about to ask, but Ron knew the question.

"Here," he said quietly. "Look at this." With that, he turned the Kimmunicator away from himself, pointing it at Drakken's body. He couldn't see Wade's reaction, but in a way, he was sort of glad of it. He turned the Kimmunicator back around. "That's what's happened. And there's about twenty henchmen, some human, some synthodrone, in the other room. All dead."

Wade was speechless for a moment, his skin ashen, but finally managed to choke out, "And Shego?"

Ron sighed. "We don't know. I thought first that she was responsible, but it just doesn't make any sense."

Wade nodded solemnly. "I'll . . . need a blood sample, to compare DNA," he explained. "Perhaps the killer lost some blood, too. The police can examine it all further, but if it's someone else we know, then we can start tracking them now."

Ron nodded. "Just a sec," he said and signed off, placing the Kimmunicator in his own pant pocket.

Balancing Kim against him in a rather interesting position, he shed his already ripped mission shirt and folded it into the shape of a pillow, setting it down on the ground. With tender care, he lay Kim down, positioning her head on the shirt in an attempt to keep the blood out of her hair and face. She murmured something unintelligible as he released her. "Shhhh . . ."

He stood quickly, no longer the goofy sidekick, his features serious, his eyes intent. Pulling the Kimmunicator from his pocket, he approached a spot in which it appeared a body had been lying. He ejected the sample tray from the top of the Kimmunicator, leaning down to scoop a large portion of the blood from the ground. He signed on and pressed the send button.

Wade's image appeared on the screen, typing furiously. After a moment, his printer kicked into action. He ripped the paper from the machine, analyzing it closely. "Both Drakken's and Shego's blood present."

Ron's face fell. "Nothing else?"

"No, but Shego's blood is emitting detectable power. Something along the lines radioactive decay. I think she'd been using her powers when the blood was spilt." Had Ron not been in an uncharacteristically serious mood, he'd have countered that with something like 'Duh.' "Let me do a quick scan." Ron sighed and waited as Wade tapped into a conveniently located satellite. "Looks like Shego lost an extremely large amount of blood. There's no way even she could survive this without some sort of miracle."

"But her body . . ." Ron noted.

"That's the weird part, I can't find any traces that would lead us to her body, and there's no way Drakken or any of those henchmen did this to her. I don't know what the police will say, but we've dealt with Shego enough to know that there's an even more powerful enemy out there."

"And Kim's gotta be the one to bring 'em down," Ron stated. It wasn't a question, or even a thought, but an absolute truth.

Wade nodded gravely, typing once more.

Ron sighed, looking over his shoulder to Kim, who was still asleep on his shirt. She tossed around, distressed cries emerging from her lips. He wanted to run to her rescue, to wake her from her nightmare, but he realized it would only be into a more frightening world than the one in which she was currently trapped. _She can do anything . . . _But apparently this is where she'd have to draw the line. No-one would expect her to deal with this in a calm manner; she was just a teenage girl after all.

He returned his attention to Wade. "Hey, Wade, could you-?"

Wade answered before he could even finish his question. "The authorities are on their way." He looked at his friend sadly for a moment. "Are you going to be okay, Ron?"

"Yeah . . ." he scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know about Kim, though. I've never seen her like this."

Wade looked concerned. "Get her out of there. Take her outside and let her rest. Some fresh air might do her a lot of good."

"Thanks, buddy," Ron said. "Oh, and could you call our parents? Particularly Kim's . . ."

"Already on it," the genius answered. "Wade out," and with that the screen went black.

Ron sagged his way over to Kim, bending forward to scoop her up in his arms. She moaned quietly upon being moved but did not wake. "Sh . . ." he whispered. Her fingers immediately sought to latch onto him, clinging to his bare skin. Her precious weight nestled firmly in his arms, her sweet breath blowing against his shoulder, he lightly brushed his lips against her forehead and began to carry her out into the morning sun.

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Shego had been taken to Lilly's home. She called it a home, because it seemed absolutely nothing like a lair. However, 'home' wasn't a very appropriate word either. She resided in a rather large estate, a mansion of sorts that looked to be about three hundred years old, stationed not too far from London, as she'd been told (she'd been unconscious most of the trip there, to the point she wasn't sure exactly _how_ they'd gotten there).

When she'd regained enough of her strength (which was fairly quickly, as she _was_ Shego, the 'undefeatable' former superhero), she'd spent her days exploring the large house. It was eerie, to say the least, although not empty, as many of those sorts of houses are. The manor was home to about a hundred people, from children to the elderly, all quiet, all freakishly devoted to Lilly's happiness. There were no servants. _They_ did anything Lilly needed to be done, and when she'd introduced the mysterious green woman to the gathering, they'd catered to her every need as well. Shego'd considered asking why they acted so, but every time she hovered near the topic, the mysterious woman would dismiss it with a wave of her hand.

And as strange as the days in this strange place were, the nights were even stranger, full of meditation and prayer and lit candles and locked doors. She knew they all adjourned to the basement every midnight, even though every seemingly private room (except hers, of course) was securely locked. She could only guess what occurred during those hours, but she did not intrude, no, she'd changed. She still mourned Drakken's death. Why? She wasn't sure. But those moments of solitude, safe from anyone trying to tend to her every need, were the only chances she had to weep freely, unconcerned with the fate that had befallen her.

Yes, she cried. She'd never loved Drakken in that way . . . no, there was no sexual tension between them (the thought of the man naked was enough to make her cringe and wish she'd never been born to even think it), but there was deep companionship. As much as they'd put each other down, and argued, and outwardly despised one another, they'd truly cared for each other. She wouldn't consider him like a brother, nor like a father, but more than a friend, as if there were a platonic bond that could not be broken; not even now that Drakken was dead.

_Drakken was dead._ There, she'd said it. It was the first step in coming to terms with it, albeit a small one. And upon this realization, she forced herself to stop crying. He was gone; there was no changing that. Her tears were of no use, except perhaps to sting at her eyes and cause her even more pain. No, mourning was not, could not be the answer.

This had been her philosophy all the time, whether she knew it or not. Lamentation was not a just response, but vengeance was. She would have revenge on Lilly for his death, and the only way to do that was to infiltrate her forces, break deep into this cult of hers and start an internal rebellion. And, along the way, she could play the double agent, pretending to be the woman's friend, helping her on her way to world conquest (wasn't that what she had said her plans were? Of course they were, what else?), only to stab her in the back, quite literally, when the time came. From there, she would have both revenge for Drakken's demise and control of the entire world. It was an ingeniously simple plan; and it would work.

The first step was, naturally, to gather as much information as she could muster on this woman known only as Lilly. Lilly . . . it was an odd name for a villain, surely, but Shego saw it as more of a trademark, as wherever the woman went, she had a white lily tucked behind her ear, pinned to her clothing, or clutched in her hand. She wondered about this but quickly brushed the thought away; it would not help her any in her quest. She looked elsewhere, but there were no records of her she could recover from the internet (she dared not stray far from the mansion, lest Lilly grow suspicious) without a last name. She searched the house, as she'd been given free reign there, even to Lilly's private study. But any door that was locked was to be remained locked; no exceptions.

One evening when everyone else was busy with their midnight rituals, she crept into Lilly's study, leaving the lamps unlit, her eyes glowing green in the darkness, seeing clearly as if in broad daylight. She'd been in this room countless times before, but never wanted to examine any of its contents with much scrutiny, wary of Lilly's knowledge of her intentions.

She first went to examine the bookshelves, stacked with everything from ancient scrolls to brand new books, published within the past several years. The presence of some of the books brought great amusement to Shego, as they were various novels of great popularity in modern days, seeming a bit out of place in a person such as Lilly's private library. _The Well of Lost Plots . . . The Queen of the Damned . . . Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone . . . The Tombs of Atuan . . ._ The titles continued in such a trend, until a new, slightly disturbing and more specific theme took over. _The Book of Lilith . . . Lilith – The First Eve: Historical and Psychological Aspects of the Dark Feminine . . . True Vampires: Blood-sucking Killers Past and Present . . ._ Shego stopped for a moment, considering opening one of the books to see what truths they may hold. But no, that was too easy; she'd ask Lilly herself. Of course, she knew the basic tales of Lilith, but, obviously, her new host had an excessive interest in the myth, and probably knew more than any of these books could tell her. She made a mental note to bring up Babylonian mythology when they took supper together the next day.

Moving away from the small library, Shego approached a painting hanging on a nearby wall – the room was decorated with an excessive number of paintings, drawings, sketches and photographs. She was no art historian, but she could only guess the painting dated back centuries, obviously some point in time prior to the Italian Renaissance. However early and crudely done it was, the face was distinct: an image of Lilly herself, dressed all in black, standing alone before a dreary background, holding onto a splotch of white. She took a closer look; it was undoubtedly Lilly, or else an amazing coincidence. "Huh . . ." She continued along, through several other paintings bearing remarkable resemblance to the mysterious woman, and others that, too, looked just like her, save for her skin and hair, which were fair and colorful, respectively.

The paintings started to follow a pattern . . . one of each woman in every style, the ones of Lilly always bearing the signature white flower to which her name belonged, always in some dark, demonic setting; and those of the other woman consistently containing the image of a dark rose. The new woman, too, seemed to be a dark figure, but with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, as if she was always standing in her own shadow, although living in a world of light.

Finally, she came across a statue positioned in the corner of the room, shrouded from view by the intense darkness. Squinting, she used her powers to see the object. An ancient Greek sculpture, obviously authentic, it was a breathtaking piece of art depicting two women . . . the two women from the paintings. Their faces were identical, and, both formed from white plaster, they seemed to be exactly the same, save for their distinctive positions. The first held a lily in her hands, her eyes downcast, while the second looked toward the heavens, a delicate rose dangling from her fingers. Entwined about the two was a snake, resonant of the serpent whose shape Lucifer had taken to seduce the first woman, Eve, to induce the fall of mankind. His venom-dripping jaws to downcast eyes, his tale end wrapped round, as if to suffocate, the other's neck.

The ironic part was that the statue was Greek in origin, but Judeo-Christian in composition, obviously dating back far before the birth of Christ.

She stared.

The books on Lilith, the vampiric vibes, the paintings, the statue . . . she'd surely found some things of great importance, but why would Lilly leave such clues out in plain sight? Or did she want Shego to find them? The woman was mysterious; Shego didn't know how clever she may or may not be; only that she commanded great amounts of brute force, both physical and supernatural.

_A vampire . . ._

No, that was silly. Vampires didn't exist! But she couldn't help but remember the theory on how Lilith was not only the first woman, but the first vampire, nor could she forget how Lilly's smile glinted with the points of two sharpened canines . . . fangs. And to top it all off, the woman sported the clothing of the stereotypical Goth teenager, although leaning toward the styles sported by many female vampires in their modern representations, such as in horror movies and M rated videogames. But her skin was dark . . . as if containing a natural tan that gave her the appearance of a Native American. Perhaps some vampire trademarks really were all media hype . . . but that still didn't make any sense: she was surrounded by blood in the lair, and yet she seemed to have no reaction or lust caused by it.

All the clues were misleading. Perhaps she just had a penchant for dark myths, and kept this library for amusement, not research. After all, if she was a vampire, she'd not need read about them, would she?

Shego left the room as unnoticed as she'd entered. She'd taken a step forward and a thousand steps backwards, but that was all right. She had time; apparently Lilly had all the time in the world. Perhaps she could share the secret to immortality . . . after all, Shego was quick-healing, powerful and magical; all that was missing was invincibility . . . no, that wasn't it. All she needed was immortality.

* * *

Ron sat, cold, on the edge of the back of an ambulance, wearing only his boxers. Upon arriving, the authorities saw the two teens covered in blood from the scene and requested that they remove it immediately, as it would be key in their investigation. And so there sat a nearly naked Ron Stoppable, a bloody and sleeping Kim Possible leaning against him. There had been a female paramedic on the team that'd arrived, and he was waiting for her to return to undress Kim, but apparently that wasn't going to happen for a while.

He sighed. He truly didn't have the heart to wake her, afraid she might have a similar reaction as before. He'd never seen her act like that before, even considering the situation. He made a mental note to ask her when she woke. There was something about her as soon as she'd entered the room, as if she were remembering something she'd forgotten; a horrible past she'd made a point of leaving behind. Something in her eyes in that brief instant before she wavered told him that there was something she'd not told him, or perhaps she'd not even bothered to tell herself.

There was something different about Kim, he couldn't deny it. And it didn't have anything to do with his feelings for her; it was bigger than that. She saved the world everyday, and yet . . . it still seemed as if she'd been designed for something much greater. He knew that if it came down to it, Kim would give up everything for the better of the world – that's what made her different. It's also what made her a hero.

She murmured something incoherent in her sleep, bringing him from his thoughts. He looked round. There was nobody coming back to help, and, naturally, they'd want to take the bodies and samples away immediately; they weren't concerned with Kim (and the very thought infuriated him). Looking down to her once more, he realized that she trusted him not to take advantage of her in any situation (she changed in front of him on a regular basis, for goodness' sake!) , and that she'd most likely not mind considering the circumstance.

To begin, he carefully slipped his fingers under the cuff of her right glove, sliding it off her hand; he entwined his fingers with her own for a moment, relishing the connection between them. And, although he knew she was asleep, he could have sworn he felt her squeeze back. He smiled and removed the other glove, stopping briefly once more to massage both her hands lightly, almost hoping she'd wake on her own before he'd have to remove any more clothing.

She snoozed on.

Picking her up, he placed her lying just inside the ambulance, settled on top of a fuzzy blanket. He leaned forward and untied her shoes, setting them aside with great deliberate care. From there he tugged off her socks, stuffing one inside each shoe. Her toenails were painted, he noted, a bright shade of pink. He chuckled slightly, finding this amusing for some reason he couldn't place. From there, he unlatched her utility belt, placing that in a separate pile with his own and the Kimmunicator.

Now, feeling a little nervous, he couldn't help but sense the change in his own flow of blood. Trying his best to keep his hormones in check, he placed one arm under her uncovered lower back, supporting her as he carefully eased her out of her black knit shirt, revealing her simple white bra, a small bow fixed at the point where the two cups met. He found his eyes locked on the undergarment, but quickly chided himself, placing the blouse in the pile as well. He gulped and undid her pants, tugging them over her wide hips and sliding them down her legs. He placed them aside, too. So there she lay, in nothing but her bra and white bikini panties. Naturally, he was aroused, but this wasn't the place or the time for such feelings, only a very embarrassing situation.

He wrapped her up in the wool blanket the kind woman paramedic had given him and gathered her up in his arms. They'd be going home like this, he knew, in just their underwear, but Kim's dad's rage was not Ron's concern right now. The only thing he cared about was the being curled up against him. He smiled down at her slightly when she began to move.

She turned her face toward him, her eyelashes fluttering open, her eyes big and glistening.

"Hey," he said softly, pulling her a little closer.

"Hey," she whispered. "I'm cold."

He was about to point out that she was at least wearing a blanket and he nothing at all, but she'd not yet mentioned her apparent lack of clothing, and he wasn't too keen on bringing it up. He simply said, "Me, too," and rubbed her back through the soft fabric. After several moments of companionable silence, he ventured, "Are you all right? You seemed a bit . . ." He trailed off.

She wriggled out of his embrace to stare at the ground, her elbows on her knees, her hands running through her tangled hair. She sighed, trying to gather her thoughts. She sat like that for several moments, but he didn't mind; he'd wait for her, but soon, she began drifting farther away, her behavior changing slightly. The sudden transformation was almost unnerving.

There are times when being the hero takes its toll, and today was certainly one of them. You'd think that the death of one's arch foe would call for a burst of happiness, but no, Kim was crushed at best – he may have been a villain, but such terror only disgusted her, causing her stomach to twist uncomfortably and her face to lose all its color. And still, hours later, she sat silent, clearly feeling no need to avenge this, but some other sort of need. She couldn't just sit there as such horror was passing, but found the most she could do was to wring her hands compulsively.

There was a new villain in town. No doubt she'd have to stop them when they had a lead. But would that not be revenge? And if so, was it just?

"Kim?" he called softly.

She shook herself from her daze. "Sorry, I just . . . I don't know what came over me."

Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "Oh, it's okay. You were pretty tired. And hey, I zone out all the time, and I turned out all right, now didn't I?" He grinned.

She looked up at him seriously, her face unchanged. "No, Ron." She shook her head slowly. "Not just now. Back . . . there," she said, gesturing over her shoulder to where the lair was. "It was like . . . like I'd been there before. But not déjà vu." She waved her hands in an effort to quicken and clarify her thoughts. "But it wasn't the place. It was . . . a presence."

Ron gulped, a confused look on his face. "You're saying that something was . . . _alive_ back there?"

She shook her head again, clearly as confused as he. "No, not alive." She was obviously struggling to get her point across, her hands working wildly but to no avail. She sighed, letting them drop to her lap. She'd have to think on it later. She'd get a headache trying to figure it out right now.

Ron lightly put an arm round her shoulder. "Kim," he began gently. "You're not yourself right now. I know it wasn't the best scene in there – Hell, it made me sick. But this isn't you. What's wrong?"

He seemed so much wiser all of a sudden, as if the roles had been switched. All at once he truly was protecting her. Why he needed to, she wasn't sure. She couldn't explain it to him, or even to herself. It was somehow supernatural, spiritual . . . almost magical. And she really didn't like it. "I don't know, Ron," she confided, settling her head against his shoulder, wrapping an arm across him, pulling the blanket around the both of them. "I really don't know."

* * *

_Please, read and review!_


	9. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Except maybe my own characters. But not even them, really. They own themselves if you ask them.

_A Note From the Authoress: For the record, this chapter was never supposed to exist. Honestly. Nowhere in the outline. It came from my realization that I needed a nice follow-up to the events of the last chapter and personal angst. Yay, angst! Although this chapter isn't _too_ angsty. I apologize, though, parts of it are still very vague, mysterious and confusing. On purpose, naturally. They'll all be explained in due time, just a little foreshadowing (yes, this is mostly the last section, along with some of Kim's thoughts, which confuse even her, and me, honestly, even though I know all about it)._

_I promise, after this chapter, it'll go back to some semblance of normalcy. At least for a while. :) I've written a new version of the prologue, but it's not up quite yet. I want to finish outlining the third book to make sure I'm not leaving any conflicting details or anything in there. Well, I guess I could always go back and change it later. ;) I'll try to post it with the next chapter, but I'm not promising anything._

dude: _Haha! Not quite . . . but thanks, anyways!  
_gargoylesama: _I am very well aware of the different forms of vampires and their weaknesses, but trust me when I say that everything is going to work out appropriately. The issues of both vampires and Lilith will be addressed. And, because you're apparently familiar with the Lilith myth, I have a feeling you're going to be angry with me when an explanation finally comes. As I stated before, this is a separate version of Lilith . . . but the myths don't change, only the reality behind them. You'll see, and hopefully still be able to enjoy the story, as well. :)  
_the Desert Fox: _You got the reference! You rock! (Yes, that was intentional, sorta. I was listening to that song and it just came out. I almost changed it but decided to keep it to see who'd be the first to notice it). You get a muffin for that. And thanks!  
_aimtbj: _You have absolutely no idea. ;) Thanks!

* * *

_

**Chapter Seven**

Kim Possible was the most renowned teen hero in the world; that was a fact. To the rest of the world, she was invincible, commanding inhuman power and skill, while still retaining the likeness, grace and beauty of the incredible young woman she was. She'd never truly lost, not ever. She and her team were ridding the world of evil one villain at a time, using methods that were by no means fatal, giving her a more appealing image than even the governmental officials that went through years of training that she technically never had. She was a role model; she was a true hero.

But right now she was a frightened little girl.

When they'd arrived back at the Possible residence, they only would have been able to make eighth period, making returning to school entirely pointless. Not that Kim was in any state of mind to be doing any sort of learning whatsoever. Still wearing nothing more than her underwear, she'd run up to her room, leaving a confused, boxer-clad Ron standing in the entryway. The Drs. Possible had both returned home early after receiving frantic phone calls from Wade saying that their daughter and her boyfriend were on their way home and might need them. He'd explained what happened as best he could, but neither parent could understand how even this could force their daughter into such a funk that even Ron wouldn't be able to pull her out of it.

Mrs. Dr. Possible had immediately followed Kim up to her room, leaving Ron and Kim's dad to talk. Presently, Ron was fidgeting nervously in the doorway to the Drs. Possible's bedroom, as the man of the house was digging through his closet for something to give Ron to wear. Normally, he had one set of normal clothes and one set of mission clothes tucked away in Kim's closet, as she had the same in his, but after spending multiple missions and one overnight stay at the Possible residence, they were all soiled or taken away to some crime lab. Ron had offered to run on home to get some more, but Mr. Possible had quickly pointed out that it would be awfully cold to do so in his boxers, and that they'd call his parents later to see if they'd drop some off.

Despite the elder man's assurances, Ron couldn't help but feel awkward standing in his girlfriend's parents' bedroom. It was just . . . strange. He scratched the back of his neck, and, after a moment, uneasily ventured, "Dr. P.?"

He briefly looked over his shoulder at the young man, taking in his vaguely gangly appearance. At first glance, he wouldn't seem one capable of much strength or bravery, but the way he constantly put his life on the line for their Kimmie, he had no doubt that this was the man he wanted his daughter to spend the rest of her life with. He trusted him, although he hadn't really realized it until just now, seeing the concern etched in Ron's face. He knew the boy would never take advantage of his daughter, nor would he ever hurt her, or allow anyone else to do the same. He admired that; he _respected_ that. "Yes, Ronald?"

"I'm worried about Kim," he said simply.

James stopped his rummaging and stood upright, looking in Ron's direction, but not at him. "We all are, Ron. But she'll pull through, you'll see." He smiled slightly, obviously forcing the optimism.

"She _can_ do anything," Ron added helpfully.

The man turned round once more, sorting through clothes for something that might fit Ron appropriately. "What exactly happened?"

Ron sighed, seeking for a place to begin. "Well," he began, "Wade told us that there were . . . err . . . screams coming from the lair. We'd all immediately thought it was a hostage being tortured or something like that, and Wade told us to just run in there, nothing sneaky about it. There wouldn't be time."

James nodded, signaling Ron to continue.

"So . . . I . . . well, I . . . _convinced_ Kim to let me go in first."

Dr. Possible raised an eyebrow at the phrasing. Certainly didn't sound like his daughter to be convinced to do anything by anyone, not even Ron. "And?"

"And . . . well," Ron seemed to wince slightly, "I ran through several different passages until I came across a large room full of dead henchmen."

The other man looked over his shoulder once more. "Was there a lot of . . . ?"

"Blood?" he finished for him. James couldn't help but notice how much more mature Ron seemed, as if he'd aged ten years within the course of one day. His eyes seemed to hold great and sudden wisdom . . . and pain. He knew it was for Kim, after all that was the only reason he did anything, wasn't it? "Yeah . . . and syntho-goo. But I went to the door anyways . . . I don't know what compelled me to; Kim hadn't caught up with me yet. I learned later she took a different path to the central part of the lair – it was huge, ya know. The door opened and . . ." he stopped for a moment, as if in thought.

"Drew," the elder man stated. It was not a question, but rather a realization full of guilt. It was bad enough he blamed himself for Lipsky turning evil, but now he felt the weight of the villain's death weighing down on his shoulders.

Ron nodded. "Yeah . . . there was even more blood . . . both his and Shego's, Wade said. Shego's probably dead . . . they haven't found her body yet." He sighed, scratching his neck again. "It was disgusting, to say the least. _I_ felt sick. And then . . . Kim came in . . . from another entrance, thankfully. I don't know what she'd have done if she'd seen what I saw."

Mr. Possible looked at him expectantly.

"She looked like she was going to faint. I caught her, though. I've never seen her so . . . _frail_. But she got right back up and went closer to the body. I let her . . . I wish I wouldn't've. She fell down and started . . . well, barfing. I went down next to her and held her and cleaned her up as best I could and told her to go to sleep."

Kim's dad smiled at that. Ron didn't know it, but he was gaining James' trust and respect by the moment. True, he'd always had faith in the boy when it came to him being Kim's best friend, but this was new territory, and a new test. And Ron was passing with flying colors. "And then?"

"And then I called Wade . . . you know about that already, and I carried Kim outside to get some fresh air.

_A+._ But he couldn't let Ron know that, he still wanted Ron to be afraid of deep space probes and black holes. He resisted the urge to chuckle at that.

"You know the rest of the story," Ron sighed.

James nodded, finally finding what he was looking for: a pair of old trousers that should fit Ron fine, and a large blue tee-shirt. He pulled them out and stood, handing them to Ron, who quickly donned them, glad of their warmth. With a quick thank you, Ron turned to leave, but Dr. Possible stopped him. "Ronald?"

He turned round. "Yes, sir?"

James smiled, laying a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Thanks for taking care of my Kimmie-cub." He tightened his grip. "And I mean that."

"Oh, as Kim would say, it's 'no big'," he responded with a bit of amusement, but then grew uncharacteristically serious. "I'd do anything to keep Kim safe."

Mr. Dr. Possible smiled, and, much to Ron's surprise, took the boy in a firm, fatherly embrace.

* * *

Meanwhile, Kim's mother was digging through her daughter's dresser, looking for something for her to wear, as currently she was sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in the blanket Ron had enveloped her in earlier, deep in thought. What had made her feel so . . . so . . . she couldn't even put it into words! There was something about what had happened, beyond the death, beyond the blood, that had chiseled its way deep into her soul, without her even knowing it. She felt vulnerable, weak and destroyed, but that was only a result of that one single feeling she still could not place. 

She'd seen an image in her fear there, an image of a legend she'd never paid any mind. But now . . . she felt as if she should have, as if what was said to be simple myth would be the source of her undoing, of the end of the world. But worst of all, she saw that it would be all her fault, hers and Ron's. And the thought frightened her beyond all comprehension. She sighed.

"Kimmie?" came her mother's voice, concerned.

Before she could even think, Kim blurted out, "I want to marry Ron," then quickly covered her mouth, a light pink tone coming to her cheeks.

Slightly startled, her mother ceased her search to look straight ahead, still facing away from her, contemplating the topic. "Have you discussed this with Ron?" A hint of a smile played across her lips.

Kim shook her head and moaned, exasperated. "I didn't mean to say that," she groaned. She'd said the first thing that came to her mind, after her current contemplation, that is. She knew it was unrelated and random and totally silly, but she'd said it. The damage was done. Her mother would never let her live this down. Well, at least it drew her mind from her present crisis.

"But you meant it, didn't you?" Ann Possible grinned over her shoulder at her daughter. As random as it was, it was certainly better than Kim brooding for the time being. At least now she was smiling – a smile Ron would truly love. Never mind the thought of Ron finally being an official member of the family was a very welcome thought.

Kim's blush deepened considerably. "Well . . . yeah . . . I guess I did . . ." She smiled dreamily for a moment, but soon snapped out of it. "But that's not the point!"

"It's not?" Ann queried, holding up a pair of cargo Capri pants. Kim's sudden change of mood was odd, if not a bit disturbing, but it pained Ann to see Kim in such a state, and decided to let it rest for now; anything to make Kim happy.

"Of course not!" Kim was as red as a stoplight now, struggling to hold in her giggles, her distress gone, as if the further she distanced herself from that place, the clearer reality became. Nothing would harm her, and now, only now, did she realize this.

"Then why did you say it?" Ann pulled out a matching tee-shirt and broadened her grin before throwing both garments at her daughter. With a slight giggle, she set about searching for a matching pair of socks (which was quite a task, being the room of a high school girl).

Kim collapsed back onto her bed with an overly dramatic sigh. "I don't know!" She began twisting the fabric of the clothing her mother had just given her, the one remaining effect of the day's earlier drama. "It was the first thing that came to mind. I don't know why or how . . . Ugh!" She sat up and began putting on the clothes she'd been given.

Ann smiled tenderly at her daughter, standing, and came over to sit down on the edge of the bed with her, holding out a pair of socks. "Maybe it's because whatever happened today made you realize something."

Tugging the shirt over her head, she frowned and set about calming her now frizzy hair. "Like what?"

"I don't know," Ann said, assisting her daughter with her hair. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Kim thought for a moment, her hands settled in her lap before beginning, "I don't know what came over me, Mom . . . I mean, yeah, there was a lot of blood and it made me feel sick, but . . . there was something else." She waved her hands frantically. "I tried to explain it to Ron, that it was like déjà vu, but that's not quite it." She dropped her hands, deep in thought.

"Kimmie," her mother soothed, "Just tell me what happened." She wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders, sensing the tension there. She could tell that that shadow was settling on Kim once more, but she also knew that should she keep this bottled up, things would prove even worse than now.

She began in a whisper, "I don't remember much . . . just . . . blood and . . . and pain. I felt dizzy. And Ron, he . . ."

"Caught you before you fell?" Ann finished with a smile.

Kim nodded. "I wanted to see the body . . . I don't know why. I was compelled to. And the . . . nausea finally overcame me. Ron held me . . . and told me to go to sleep. I did, but I don't know why. It wasn't that bad, surely. But there was something else in that place and I couldn't help it."

Ann stroked her daughter's hair affectionately. "And that's all you remember?"

Kim finally seemed to lighten for a moment, grinning faintly. "When I woke up, I was in my underwear in his arms." Ann raised an eyebrow slightly. "And a blanket!" she finished with a blush.

Trying to lighten the mood once more, Mrs. Possible replied, "So Ron's already undressed you? I guess you _should_ be thinking about marriage."

"Mom!" Kim squawked shoving her mother a little.

Ann smiled warmly and pulled her daughter close, growing serious again. "I'm worried about you, Kimmie. It's not like you to be so . . . so . . . _random_."

Kim seemed to slump in her mother's arms for a moment before assuring her she was all right, and that she was just having an odd day.

"Okay, dear," Mrs. Possible said, releasing the girl. "I'm going to go check on your dad and Ron, just holler if you need me, okay?"

Kim smiled at her mother. "Okay." Once her mother had left, she sighed, drooping forward with her hands in her lap. There was something wrong, she couldn't deny it to herself the way she had to her mother. She didn't want to lie to her, but she knew she'd not be able to explain it to anyone if she couldn't even make it clear to herself. It wasn't a big deal, she could handle it. After all, she could do anything. All she had to do was ignore that haunting feeling for now, and hope it'd all work out in the end.

* * *

Dr. James Possible sat at the kitchen table, watching with amusement as Ron paced back and forth, talking very sternly into the phone. Naturally, he'd wanted to discuss his daughter's current situation with Mr. Barkin, but when he'd not taken an extremely fervent position, the boy had immediately ripped the phone from his hand, yelling into it about how Kim deserves a break right now and how if he didn't understand that, he should be back in the army, not working in a high school. 

He didn't even stop yelling long enough for Barkin to say he understood perfectly (as odd as that was in itself).

James chuckled, watching the young man. Ah, yes, this was the boy for his daughter. As much as he wanted to protect her, he'd realized now that this boy – no, man – could do the job better than he ever could. Of course, he'd still threaten him (it was one of the perks of having a teenage daughter), but now he felt suddenly lenient about the strict rules he'd implemented for Kim's other boyfriends. Maybe a midnight curfew? Nah, that was going a bit too far.

"Hey, Hon," his wife's voice came with a kiss to his cheek. She sat down on the edge of his chair, leaning into him to keep from falling. "What's Ron up to?"

"Lecturing Barkin," he said with uncontained amusement. His wife made a surprised face. "Oh, about Kimmie and how her teachers should be understanding and keep her grades from dropping."

"Weren't you going to do that?"

"I was, but Ronald took the phone from me!" He gestured at the boy before putting an arm round her shoulders.

"Well," she began, taking on a more serious tone, "I don't think that's entirely necessary right now." It was his turn to look confused. "Kimmie says she's fine, that she just overreacted, I guess. That's what I gathered from her explanation."

James raised an eyebrow, a thought suddenly occurring to him. _Could _she_ be responsible for all this?_ He couldn't help but remember that day . . . so long ago, before the twins had been born, when Kim was just a toddler, ambling around on her chubby little legs exclaiming 'I ken do enthing!' at the top of her little lungs. He'd never thought anything of the strange woman who'd approached him and his wife at the park back then, as Kim scuttled around the playground. "Do you think what _she'd_ said has anything to do with this?"

Ann's eyebrows rose as she nodded, almost imperceptibly. "But should we tell Kimmie? It might not have anything to do with it at all, and then she might be paranoid of something happening."

He tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer. "I don't know, Ann. I guess we'll just have to wait until we know more. Once Ron's off the phone, I'll call Wade and tell him to report any news on this situation to us before he even tries to contact Kim."

She nodded. "James, do you think she was right? About Kimmie?"

He turned to tenderly kiss her cheek. "I don't know, Hon." He lowered his arm to her waist. "I hope not. But we'll just wait and see." With his other hand, he touched his wife's chin, lifting it slightly. "And hey, remember that she said Kim would succeed. What's so bad about that?"

Ann looked at him seriously before settling her head on his shoulder. "But there will be a price, she said. That's what I worry about."

After Barkin had finally managed to get through to Ron that he understood the situation and he would talk with all of Kim's teachers (although Barkin was mysteriously covering most of her classes . . . it almost seemed like they were back in elementary school with one teacher all day long), Ron thanked the man and hung up the phone. "The Ronster's got everything under control, Mr. Dr. P., Barkin sai-" He turned back to explain the situation to Kim's dad, but instead found himself in a very awkward situation, as the Drs. Possible were apparently having a somewhat romantic moment together: their arms wrapped round one another, his head against hers, which was settled against his shoulder. "Ummm . . ." he stuttered, shifting his gaze. "I'll go . . . check on, Kim. Yeah, that's right." And with that he began backing away, only to be called back by Kim's mother.

"Come here, Ron," she said, and he did, sitting down at the table across from his girlfriend's parents, who had retracted their arms from one another, but not separated entirely.

"What's the sitch, Drs. P.?" he asked seriously, despite his stealing of Kim's trademark phrase. He folded his hands on top of the table, twiddling his thumbs lightly.

"Kim's a bit . . . off right now, Ron," Mrs. Possible explained. "She's probably going to act like nothing's wrong, but we all know that's not the case." The last bit rung of a question and he nodded in understanding. "And . . ." she glanced at her husband for a moment before returning her gaze to Ron. "I . . . we . . . we think we know why."

James seemed to try to stop her at first, but apparently realized that whatever she was going to say needed to be said. Meanwhile, Ron raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Before Jim and Tim were born," she started, "And Kim was still a toddler, just before she met you, we took her to a park to play." She smiled at the thought. "Naturally, we played with her, but before long she wore us out and, after she'd assured us she was a big girl and could play without us, we went over to a nearby bench to watch." Obviously Ron didn't see what this had to do with Kim's current distress and began tapping a finger a bit impatiently. She held up a hand, stopping him. "While we were watching, a young woman approached us. It was very strange to be quite honest, but she seemed so charmed by our little Kimmie, we let her sit with us. She was very shy, I suppose, 'cause we had to prompt her to even say anything for awhile, and no matter what the question, she'd always respond with some compliment on our daughter. Being young parents we-" She was interrupted by the sound of Kim galloping into the kitchen immediately latching onto Ron. Mrs. Possible slumped a bit, knowing she'd have to explain later.

"Come on!" she squeaked uncharacteristically, tugging on his hand. "I'm hungry for a naco!" Now that was _really_ odd. He glanced back at Kim's mother, who nodded meaningfully.

"All right, KP, just let me see if your dad will let me borrow some-"

Before he could finish, she'd dragged him out the door, on the way to Bueno Nacho.

A loud wail came from outside, "But, KP! I don't have any shoes!"

Mrs. Possible couldn't help but laugh and turned to her husband who was serious as ever. "Ann," he said softly. "Do you really think . . . _she_ might be after Kimmie?"

Ann sighed and thought for a moment. "Hon, I really don't know _what_ to think right now. But if Kimmie is who the woman says she is . . . I'm almost certain she'd come after her." She shivered a bit and James held her tightly. "It's frightening, James. She never did anything to deserve this, but she was . . . _chosen_, I guess."

James thought for a moment before beginning, "But she'll win, Ann. If everything else she said happened, then this must at least be true."

"But at what price will it come?"

James did not answer, because in truth, he didn't know how. Something inside told him that whatever price his daughter, her boyfriend or any of them had to pay would be worth it in the end. After all, this was the end of the world they were talking about, and one little girl, one little girl who held this destiny since she was wobbling around on the playground, was the only one who could aid or stop it. "Do you still have it?"

She seemed offended at the very suggestion that she may have lost the object. "Of course!" She began digging through her purse that was situated next to the chair they were on. "I carry it with me everywhere." She seemed to blush a little. "Just in case, right?"

He smiled at her. Eventually, she pulled out a neatly folded wad of black silk, placing it carefully on the table. He heaved a sigh as he withdrew his arms from round his wife, and set about undoing the careful wrappings of the sacred object. After over a decade of neglect, the charm shone and sparked silver in the light. There, settled on a soft pile of cloth was a silver chain, a seemingly ancient pendant hanging from it. The pendant itself, although indescribably old, shone with equal silver brilliance, the image of three model keys locked into the shape of a triangle, each key inscribed with a name. They seemed to taunt James with their realism, as if they were proof of religion, of faith . . . of evil. There they were: "SENOY", "SANSENOY" and "SEMANGELOF".

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